Harry Lannister: The Young Lion
by yozza
Summary: Harry James Potter died in the war and was reborn into a world vastly different to his own. Surrounded by lies, mystery and intrigue can Harry win and survive or will he fall prey to the machinations of other players. Because when you play the Game of Thrones...You win or you die.
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the challenge "Harry is the bastard son of Jaime Lannister"**

 **Requirements: _Harry is conceived before Jaime joins the Kingsguard_**

 _ **Tywin finds out about Harry's birth and brings him to Casterly Rock to train him to be heir**_

 _ **Harry and Jaime have a close relationship**_

 _ **Cersei hates Harry**_

 _ **Harry has his father's looks and some of his skills and talents**_

 _ **Harry should be more confident with his skills and with females than in the books.**_

 **There were more, put posting them here could potentially give away some major plot points that I have planned. Anyways, please enjoy.  
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Chapter 1

The procession was huge.

That was the first thought in Harry's head as he sat upon the golden brown mare that had carried him from King's Landing to Casterly Rock and then to the land near Rosby where the caravan had stopped for the night. The aforementioned caravan was made up of an obscenely large wheelhouse being used by his own loving aunt, Cersei Lannister, Queen of the seven kingdoms. There was also an abundance of carriages carrying supplies and clothing and some weapons or armour for the various knights and guardsmen in Kings Landing.

Of course when Harry said 'loving' he meant 'loathed with every fiber of her being'. For some reason she didn't like the fact that her brother had a bastard son, and she liked it even less when, at the age of four; only a few years after the end of the Rebellion; his Lord Grandfather Tywin Lannister had summoned him to Casterly Rock from his former home in a village near the Kingswood.

The Lord of the Westerlands hated his second son. Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf who enjoyed three things: Whoring, reading and drinking. The man was highly intelligent and always treated Harry kindly, with a word of advice or a simple joke to cheer him up, but his birth had killed his mother and Tywin had never forgiven him. The Old Lion didn't want the Lordship of his House to fall to Tyrion and since Jaime was Kingsguard he had only two options: his brother Kevan or his son Jaime's baseborn son.

Harry had been born half a year after the Tourney of Harrenhall, part way into Robert Baratheon's uprising against the Targaryen dynasty. After the battle against the Kingswood Brotherhood, his father; only five and ten at the time; had lain with his mother on his way back to Kings Landing, resulting in him being conceived.

Harry had taken after his father in looks. He had the striking emerald eyes of his father, and was similarly built with a tall and slender frame. His mothers hair colour had darkened the shade of his own but he did possess blonde hair as was typical of his family; it just wasn't the elegant golden locks that his father, uncle, aunt, great uncle, cousins or his grandfather's third cousins nephew had...it was a sore point for him.

He'd never known his mother. She was one of the whore's in that village, and he didn't know which.

At age three, following the end of the Targaryen rule, his father had found him. While Jaime was unable to take him in for safety reasons, the man had made sure his child never went hungry and had hired a grizzled, scarred, one-eyed sellsword by the name of Eryck to serve as a companion and protector to him. Of course, Harry mused, Jaime should have known better than to try and keep a secret from Tywin Lannister for it was only a year later that the former Hand had found him and taken him to be tutored the same place his father had grown up.

For ten years he lived at Casterly Rock with his family, with Lord Tywin trying to convince King Robert to grant a legitimization for Harry. It was the best time of his life. He got to meet various bannermen of his grandfather over those years and even visited the keep's of the most prominent; such as House's Lefford, Crakehall or the Lannisport Lannister's; or those held in the highest regard by Lord Tywin, like the Marbrand's and Clegane's.

But for the most part he was trained to be the heir Tywin always wanted. The Lord of the Rock spent one or two hours personally tutoring Harry in the art of leadership; how to rule a House, which Lords he could trust, which needed to be watched. He learned about the History of the seven kingdoms but the most time was spent on the Westerlands. He learned the geography, the good defensive positions or routes for armies to march through, formation and strategy. He was taught numbers and letters on Tywin's order's "No Lannister will be unable to read and write".

His combat training was much more fun, in Harry's personal opinion though he did not disregard any of his academic's. He was taught how to ride by Addam Marbrand. He was a natural at swordplay which he was instructed on by the Master-at-Arms Ser Benedict Broom and his Eryck, who had been knighted and kept on as a sworn shield.

The part Harry had loved most was the visit's from his father. Jaime was a good man despite what many said. He'd taken the time to see his son and train with him, putting up with Robert's jokes so the man would have no cause to prevent him. He also defended his child against Cersei, a fact Harry knew from having heard the two arguing over it.

Harry loved his father and didn't care about the act he was so hated and mocked for.

Robert had eventually agreed to give Harry the name Lannister two years previously. However he'd requested that Harry come to court and serve as a squire to Ser Barristan Selmy for two namedays. He'd just turned four and ten, and had already squired for Ser Daven Lannister for two years when this had been agreed and so he'd packed his bags and traveled with his father to the Red Keep. He had loved serving as a squire for the famous knight; his swordsmanship increased drastically under the combined training by five of the Kingsguard (Blount and Trant not having any skill of their own) and he knew how to treat weapons and armour properly.

With his six and tenth nameday approaching, Harry would soon be able to take the name Lannister and take his place as heir to Casterly Rock.

"Milord?" a gruff voice drew him from his thoughts. Harry turned around and faced Eryck "The King has summoned you to his pavilion,"

Harry nodded and spurred his mount into a gentle trot, trusting that his loyal friend would follow him.

Harry dismounted as they approached the area in which the King had settled down. The reason for such a large trip was that Jon Arryn, Hand of the King for fourteen years, had died and the King had unreasonably wanted to make the Quiet Wolf Eddard Stark his replacement instead of someone like King Robert's own brother, Stannis, or Lord Tywin.

As they approached the King's pavilion, Harry caught sight of a young boy with light brown hair dressed in light armour and clothing. The boy was wearing sturdy black boots, breeches, a sleeveless brown jacket laced at the front over a hooded, white cotton shirt. A leather bracer was tied around each of the upper and lower arms. Over his back was a bow and quiver full of arrows, with a sword on his hip. The boy was talking to a man just into his thirties with golden blonde hair and striking resemblance to Harry himself.

"Father! Will!" he called out. William Buckwell, a boy of twelve, and Ser Jaime Lannister looked up as he approached.

"Harry! By the Gods you look as though you're even bigger than you were three moons ago," Jaime said, briefly embracing his son.

Harry turned to William and the two clasped forearms. Despite the four years age difference the two were good friends. Harry greeted the young archer with their usual phrase of "Shoot straight," to which William replied with "Strike strong, my friend,"

Jaime grinned. He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone but he was rather fond of William. The boy was talented with his bow, one of the greatest shots he'd ever seen. The lad could win every archery contest held if he so wished. He also liked that his son was so close with the boy. They would both do anything for the other: they were as close as brothers and had been for two years, ever since Harry had come to Kings Landing. Funnily enough, their bond of brotherhood had begun with a them beating each other black and blue.

Jaime had found his son pinning the youngest son of Lord Buckwell in one of the corridors of the Red Keep raining fists down upon the boy. But William, for someone much smaller than Harry, was surprisingly effective in his own counter attacks. They were both sentenced to clean every weapon in the armory as punishment, though they ended up stealing some old, rarely used knives and competed against each other in a throwing game to try to impress a girl they both wanted to court. They both got rejected after a knife nearly sliced the dress right off her body, got drunk and then carried each other back to Harry's chamber. William woke up on Harry's chair the next morning with a stiff neck, whilst Harry had a headache from hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

They'd been best friends ever since.

Harry smiled at them both, and then straightened his expression "The King wished to see me. I presume his outriders sent word of my approach?"

"You'd be presuming right," Will said.

Jaime nodded and began to lead his son towards the black and gold pavilion. Harry wrinkled his nose and scrunched his face up at the sight of it. The colours were even more obnoxious than the Lannister red and gold, or the Tyrell green and gold. And he'd thought both of those were overly extravagant.

As the four entered the tent, they heard the end of a discussion between King Robert and the infamous Eddard Stark. The man certainly fitted what Harry had heard about the grim Lord of Winterfell. He was tall and lean, a little taller than Jaime and broader too, dark haired with grey eyes and a long face. He was wearing plain grey and white clothing which, while neatly tailored, held no fanciful embroideries or decorations. The King looked much the same as he had when the royal entourage had left: fat and red faced with thick, coarse black hair and bushy beard that failed to hide his multiple chins. As was typical of the man, he held a cup of strong smelling wine in his hand.

"Kingslayer!" Baratheon boomed as Harry and his father entered the tent and approached his desk, William and Eryck remaining by the entrance to the tent with Ser Barristan, Ser Mandon and the Stark captain of the guards. Harry had the same elegant movements as his father but where Jaime swaggered everywhere arrogantly, Harry was much more refined. He held himself with confidence but refrained from giving others an impression of self-righteousness. He was only a bastard after all.

"Your grace," Jaime bowed, Harry copying his words and actions.

Stark tilted his head at Harry, looking slightly curious.

"Jaime's bastard," Robert grunted "Tywin bloody Lannister's been demanding I give him the Lannister name for years. Wants the boy to be his heir,"

"Heir? I thought Lord Tywin had another son; Tyrion," Stark asked

"My father doesn't think very highly of my little brother, Lord Stark. When he heard I'd had a son from before I joined the Kingsguard, he jumped on the chance," Jaime explained.

Stark nodded to show he understood the situation, even if he probably didn't agree.

"I'll leave you to your business, your grace. We should arrive in King's Landing by noon tomorrow, should we not?"

"Aye," Robert barked, and his new Hand left the tent, his man; Castle, or something like that; leaving with him. Harry wasn't very clear on Northern house's: Only the biggest names, and even then it was only really the Stark family he knew anything about.

"You summoned me, my King?" Harry inquired

"Of course I did. Sit down," Harry sat, his father standing beside him, "We're hosting a tourney when we get back to the city" _Of course he is. More loan's from Grandfather_ , "and you're going to be in either the joust or melee. If you do well, I'll legitimize you on the field, and throw in a knighthood while we're at it," Robert laughed, and Harry's eyes widened. _A knight. I could be a knight within a moon's turn!_

Harry readily agreed and was soon after dismissed. As he was walking through the encampment, he took a glance around, taking in all he could see. Ilyn Payne was sitting on a rock, sharpening his greatsword. A glimpse of the charismatic Lord Renly. A young girl looking remarkably like Lord Stark running around.

"Where's uncle Tyrion?" Harry asked, not being able to spot the man anywhere.

"He decided to spend some quality time in the company of Benjen Stark and dear Ned's own bastard on the way to wall," Jaime replied with an easy grin.

"He's joining the watch?" Harry asked incredulously.

William muttered, "The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock"

Jaime smiled again "Funny enough that's exactly what he said," Harry snorted "No. He's gone to, in his word's, 'piss of the edge of the world'"

Harry was about to reply but was cut off by a cry of delight. He turned just in time to be hit by a pair of blonde missile's crashing into his chest.

"Hello, small cousin's," he teased "How is the world from down there,"

"Shut up, Harry," Tommen said punching him on the arm with all of his ten year old might, "I'll be as tall as you in a few years,"

"I'm sure you will. And you, Myrcella! You'll be more beautiful than your mother soon,"

"Aye she will," William jumped in, flashing a charming grin at the two young royals which caused them both to blush, instead of just his female cousin as Harry had expected.

"How have you been my favourite cousins?" Harry asked, before leaning in and murmuring quietly enough that he would not be overheard "Has Joffrey left you alone?"

They both nodded, but they could not continue their conversation they were interrupted by a voice none of them wanted to hear.

"Tommen! Myrcella! Don't run off like that. After your brother was mauled by that vicious girl, I expected you to be more careful with all of these northerners about," Cersei Lannister regally approached the rapidly growing group.

"Sister dearest!" Jaime called out jovially, trying to bring his twins attention onto himself rather than his son "You look ravishing. Surely you don't mean to imply that I can't look after my niece and nephew after they've come to say hello to their most handsome uncle?"

"I believe that title belongs to Renly," William mocked while Eryck muttered something about men who spent far too much time on looks.

"Well, old man, I wouldn't expect you to understand," Jaime jabbed back

However Cersei focused in on Harry. Her face remained neutral but Harry noticed the way she tensed up, her eyes hardened and her lips thinned. _Still hates me,_ Harry analyzed.

"You're back then," she said flatly

"Evidently. I know how glad you are to see me, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short. It's been a long journey and I'd like to freshen up. Tom, 'Cella, I'll see you later," Harry said hugging both briefly before allowing them to leave with their mother. By the way her nostrils were flaring, she would not be pleasant company and he felt sorry for his cousins having to endure her.

That night, Harry lay awake on his bed. Being in the tent felt constricting and closed in, though his father's presence just across from him was comforting, as was the knowledge that Will was sleeping in a tree directly above. The experience, as it always had, brought up memories he tried to keep buried. Because he wasn't always Harry Lannister. He was once known as Harry James Potter.

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 **So, hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Review and let me know what you think.**

 **Cya next time! Yozza Out!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! I'm back. I really didn't expect such a positive response to this.**

 **Thundramon: Glad you enjoyed it. Free lemon cakes for first reviewer. I'm hoping to try and keep this from dying off, though it may take a while to finish.**

 **Joe63129: I was bored and not doing anything. Figured I may as well make a start and then I couldn't stop until it was done.**

 **Rose for Epona: Can't answer the first question, Can't answer the second but I will say it's a big one. Read on to see the answer to your last.**

 **Aragon Potter: Good name btw. I know what marriage I want for him, but not what love interest he will have. And I can't tell you who- spoilers and all that.**

 **SkittlezxBabex146: It's Game of Thrones and he's a Lannister. Don't think Tywin would've sent him off without some money and men. His own? Thought Will Buckwell might have answered that.**

 **coldblue: Too long to respond to. I'll PM you.**

 **Kairan1979: Gryffindor/Slytherin nature is revealed in this chapter. Harry will make some ripples for now, but those ripples will turn into tidal waves and then a tsunami by Dance/Winds (Season 5/6).**

 **Light Lord Cybergate: You're right...but wrong. Whether or not he still has magic is something that will be gradually revealed.**

 **Everyone else: Thanks for reviewing, glad you're enjoying it. Enjoy!  
**

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Chapter 2  


The dreams had come to Harry again that night, brought on by the memory of his past self's Horcrux hunt. Nightmare's plagued him; of friends and family he'd failed to save, the battle, betrayal, his own death. Surprisingly, the Dursley's had not made an appearance. Through experience he had been able to avoid waking his father. In the light of day though, with nothing to distract him, the previous night's dreams were able to drag Harry into the depths of his own mind, forcing him to think about his old life.

Harry Potter had never lived a particularly comfortable or happy life. He'd been born on July 31st to James Potter and his wife of two years Lily Potter nee Evans, who; he'd been told; thought that he was the best thing that ever happened to them. Their happiness would not last, however, and the young wizard and witch had been betrayed to and murdered by the man that they'd been involved in fighting a war against since they'd left school. The man called himself Lord Voldemort, though Harry and a few others knew his true name to be Tom Marvolo Riddle. After successfully escaping Voldemort three times (a feat shared only by the Longbottom couple), Peter Pettigrew had sold out there location to him, and the man had killed his parents before attempting to kill Harry himself, leading to Voldemort losing his body and power for over a decade.

In his grief and rage Harry's godfather, Sirius Black left Harry in the custody of a man who was trusted by both Sirius and Harry's parents, and then set out to track down his former friends. But when Pettigrew was cornered, Sirius was tricked. Pettigrew shouted for all around to hear that Sirius had betrayed the Potter's, before accidentally blowing up a gas-main. The traitor had cut off his finger, turned himself into a rat and scurried off into the sewers, leaving Sirius standing at the scene of twelve murders (thought to be thirteen).

True to form the amazing Ministry for Magic had not even given him a trial. Since he came from a historically dark family, and of course _everyone_ knew he was the Potter's secret keeper, they simply condemned him as guilty and shipped him of to the Wizarding Prison Azkaban.

Oh, did Harry mention he was a wizard, in a world of magic user's who had their own hidden society?

Well, he was.

While all this was going on, Harry had been taken by Rubeus Hagrid, who would become a close friend to Harry in later years, to Albus Dumbledore. That conniving, deceitful, manipulative old man had left the one year old Harry on a doorstep on a cold November night. Clearly, the bastard had never heard of the sort of people who would quite easily take such a child for their own sick pleasure. Not as common in peacetime Wizarding World as it was in the muggle world or even more so Westeros, but surely Dumbledore must have known that such people existed?

Then again this was the same man who'd let Draco Malfoy walk around free despite proof of his guilt, because the boy was "simply misguided". So who knows what else went through his head?

The next ten years of young Harry's life had passed painfully. The doorstep he'd been placed on belonged to his mothers sister Petunia, who had married an overweight, mustached man named Vernon Dursley. They and their hellspawn Dudley had made his life miserable. His bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, his bed a rickety old cot with a wafer thin sheet. By the time he was three he was doing most if not all of the house work despite him being too young for most of it. The scars he'd had on his palms from pulling up weeds were evidence of that, as were the numerous burns.

That wasn't the worst of it. Anything that went wrong was automatically his fault. The punishment, at it's lightest, was a few days locked into his cupboard without food. Sometimes it was longer, like seventeen days that one time he'd disappeared and reappeared on the roof of his school. Of course there was also the physical punishments. Vernon loved to smack him around a bit, and sometimes got out a belt used solely for beatings. Dudley's favorite game was 'Harry Hunting' where he and his friends would chase him around, corner him and then beat him to a pulp. Vernon did nothing to discourage this.

Looking at his hands now, Harry was pleased to see that where he was once more scar tissue than skin, his hands were now calloused from sword-work. His arms, legs and torso had a toned look to them that came from extensive physical exercise, while as Harry Potter he was severely underweight and small for his age. There were no burns on his arms either except for the one on the back of his forearm from where Will dropped hot wax on him. Though not uncommon to see his body covered with bruises from his work with a blade in the yard, the crisscrossing scars on his back were non-existent. Unfortunately, the lightning bolt scar carried over, though in Westeros it was thin and white, looking very old (which it was) and almost unnoticeable except at very close range.

He had eventually ended up attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His years there started out blissful (or so he thought at the time) and Hogwarts had become his home. But he wouldn't trade a hundred Hogwarts' for Westeros. That might have been because there _was_ more than a hundred castle's in Westeros; a lot more, and though he once thought Hogwarts looked majestic, it had nothing of the impressiveness of Harrenhall or Casterly Rock. The latter two didn't have magic to help them either, which it made it all the more impressive.

He tried not to think about his later years, or his friends. Especially not when those thoughts led up to his eventual death at the hands of someone he'd once trusted with his life. He supposed he should be thankful though. Following his fifth year he'd become a lot more serious and embracing of his Slytherin cunning, using it in tandem with his Gryffindor nobility and bravery, but it was ultimately that betrayal that had given him the cynicism needed to survive in the political climate and power plays of the Iron Throne. It was a reason he didn't think Stark would last long: the Northmen were basically Westerosi Gryffindor's: bold, rash, brave, honorable and noble, with a strong sense of justice and a stubborn streak that wouldn't allow much flexibility from their ideals. That was exactly what Harry was like up until his sixteenth birthday, and he knew that while it was (apparently) great in the North, the man need a huge amount more guile and cunning than he was capable of.

Harry predicted that Stark would be gone; dead or back in Winterfell; before a year was out.

"Harry!"

The shout snapped him from his musings. Harry was sitting on the side of the road, leaning against a tree carefully sharpening his sword. Unlike his wand in his previous life, Harry took very good care of his weapon now. Of course that might simply have been because it was beat over his head from his very first sword lesson at age five that until he learned how to keep his weapon sharp, and therefore useful, he would not be getting one of his own. So he learned that alongside how to don padded armour and swing a sword (using practice swords). The sword he had now had been gifted to him by his Grandfather on the day he'd begun to squire for their distant cousin, Daven Lannister.

Looking up, Harry saw Will moving with slow, purposeful strides over the long grass. Harry smirked. _Strider,_ he thought, fondly remembering the series of books Hermione had forced him to read, starting in his third year. He'd applied the name to William, and oft used it to tease the boy. The boy was confused at where the name had came from and demanded that Harry stop calling him that regardless of how well it fit, before eventually growing used to it and accepting it.

Will looked a little worse for wear, Harry noticed. When the Royal procession had stopped not even a day from King's Landing when the wheel on the Queen's overly extravagant wheelhouse had broken on a section of damaged road, Will had gone hunting in the small wood that was nearby; the outer reaches of the Kingswood, Harry believed, and the only part of it that was on the north bank of the Blackwater. Workers were repairing it, but the King had announced that it would be time for lunch soon, and they may as well get things set up. Harry had been invited to dine with the King along with Lord Stark and his family. Robert had mentioned something about wanting to get to know his future Lord of the West.

Will decided he wanted to bring the men back something fresh. The King hadn't hunted in a few days and they were down to the last of the meat they had salted after the incident at Darry. Harry shook his head. He still didn't have the full story about that. Will wasn't there and everyone else was surprisingly tight lipped.

Still, the men would be raising their cups for William tonight. From what Harry could see, he may just have saved them from having to eat old bread and travel rations while the King and his guests had the last of the meat and some slightly fresher supplies; the boy had about a dozen squirrel's tied by their tails to a string that hung around one shoulder. He seemed to be struggling to carry them alongside the two rabbit's and the small boar that was hoisted onto his other shoulder.

Harry stood and returned his sword to his scabbard, before making his way over and taking the burden off William. The boy sagged in relief. Feeling the weight for himself, Harry was surprised that the boy had been able to carry it at all.

"I'll give that to the King. Keep him from getting pissed at me. Got some mushrooms, herbs and some other stuff. Could stew it up, stretch it out more. What do you think?" Will asked.

Harry just nodded, trusting William. Harry himself knew how to cook using the technology that was used in his former world, but here he was completely lost aside from the most basic knowledge. Being raised in Casterly Rock with an abundance of wealth and servants had greatly reduced his independence in some things. Will though had been spending weeks and months in the wilderness of the crownlands and riverlands on his own since he was seven namedays. He knew how to stretch food, what was safe and what wasn't. He could climb tree's like he was born in them and he often preferred sleeping beneath the stars on a tree branch than in a warm bed.

He was strange like that.

Harry thought he'd make a great hedge knight, only William wasn't interested in coin or fame. He didn't relish combat, though for his age and size the bugger was damn good at it; while not the greatest swordsman he was up there with the big names, and archery was a specialty. William likely would spend his days wondering the wilds of the world, helping people where he could. It's just who he was.

"We'd best be getting back. The King will be expected me soon," Harry said, and they set off. The fresh meat the two were carrying got them awed looks throughout the camp. Lannister and Baratheon men alike were practically salivating at the thought of such a good meal after a week and a half of nothing but old bread, some nuts and a thin strip of salted meat per day. They hadn't had a decent meal since Darry and even then it was only slightly better. The Stark men were grateful but nowhere near as ecstatic.

They reached the spot where the meal was being prepared and within moments of dropping of the bounty of Williams hard work, Will explaining to the cook what was to be done with it, they were swarmed. Men cheering and patting him the young hunter on the back. He looked slightly shell-shocked. Harry, after a few moments of joining in with the men's joy despite his status (something that made him pretty well liked by the men his grandfather had sent his sister) Harry took pity on his friend and dragged him away, leaving the men to their cooking meal.

"I didn't think they'd be so glad. I didn't think they'd have been so desperate," Will said, sounding completely baffled by it. Harry was reminded of how much younger Will was than himself. The boy was used to rationing food and he knew the smallfolk were too, so his mind assumed that other highborn and their men were the same.

"They're not used to such a long journey. King's Landing to Winterfell and back is like four journey's to and from Casterly Rock's to King's Landing. They packed too little food for the North, where there were less places to stop and resupply at. Food ran out quicker, they had to ration more than they were used too. Don't think on it too much," Harry told him shortly before they arrived at the King's tent.

Meryn Trant and Preston Greenfield stood outside the flap. The latter of the two bowed and pulled it open, respecting Harry's position as the heir to his family's liege. Trant sneered at him. So Trant was his sister's man and Greenfield was a Lannister man. It was a distinct difference. If it came down to obeying Harry or the Queen he would choose Harry, though the King took rank over all of them.

"Hill!" the King boomed as soon as he caught the slightest glance of him. Harry winced. Not because the name was that of a bastard, but because he didn't want his mind to draw any comparisons to a certain TV presenter back in the world were there was television. "Come in and sit, boy. Bring that little archer with you. I want to speak with him,"

William blanched and started edging away, a far cry from his usually bravery and charm. Harry caught him by the elbow and pulled him into the tent with him.

Last time he'd been here, Harry hadn't really took notice of anything. The inside of the tent was nicely decorated, though in Harry's still more reserved opinion a little over the top. A polished wooden table sat where the desk once had. A large, ornate, winged-backed chair was at one end of the table. Robert lounged in it, a horn of ale in his hand clad in black and yellow finery's, a seven pointed crown upon his head. The others attendee's were already there. On Robert's right hand side sat Eddard Stark. He was dressed similarly to the day before in neat but plain clothes. His daughter's were on his left, the eldest then the younger. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Sansa Stark. She was a beauty, none could deny. Wearing a nicely embroidered dress, her hair already fashioned into southern styles, the fifteen year old had a developing figure. She was slender and pale with long, fiery red hair and bright, deep blue eyes. She reminding him of Ginny Weasley.

On the King's right was the woman he hated with every fiber of his being. Cersei Lannister looked at him with barely hidden scorn and loathing in her eyes. She herself liked to wear red dress' with a golden, metal corset that looked more like a breastplate than anything else. Her eldest was the next one along. Joffrey didn't bother to hide his hatred of Harry.

The young Lannister heir almost smiled at the memory of the description he'd heard of events that had led to Joffrey being informed of his existence. The pompous prince had been about ten namedays at the time and was wondering why his grandfather hadn't invited him to Casterly Rock yet, to name him his heir. Cersei had already known of course, but had tried to placate him by saying that since he was to one day be king, Tommen would probably be named heir. She was likely hoping it was true anyway. Joffrey had mocked Tommen for being a baby (forgetting that he was only four) and that he could never rule the Rock. But then Tyrion had mentioned that Tommen was in line for Storm's End, and that there was another heir anyway: Jaime's son.

Harry had gotten a kick from hearing about the tantrum the brat had thrown when Tyrion told him; he couldn't imagine how funny it must have been to see it in person.

From then on Joffrey hated Harry, picking up his mother's views on him. Harry gladly returned the sentiments.

The younger children were there too. Tommen and Myrcella both wearing fine clothes though no were near as expensive as Joffrey's. They both quite liked their cousin. They had heard their mother and brother complaining about their uncles bastard, but had never met them. Joffrey treated the two like dirt, so while they went out of their way to avoid his ire they did not share his opinions on anything. Cersei did not have the same influence over the younger two children. She preached about loving their family but she hardly acknowledged the presence of either. She spent all of her time and affection on Joffrey, and it was likely that even that was for the power she could gain through him.

So when Harry arrived unannounced in King's Landing (it having been kept secret in the Red Keep by Robert) she had no time to poison their minds against him. Joffrey had been foolish enough to try and bully them out of his company while he had been near by. Harry had broken his nose and the five lashes was well worth it. It had brought Tommen and Myrcella's treatment by Joffrey to light and made him too scared to do anything against them.

The final person there was the finely dressed Renly Baratheon, who was more immaculate than even the girls were.

Will stood out like a sore thumb. He'd been dragged in with no prior warning and thus was still wearing his hunting gear. A white sleeveless top, breeches covered in mud, boots with leaves and grass stuck on the bottom. His quiver was on his back containing his bow and a selection of his best arrows. A dagger was in a sheath on his hip, but he'd left his sword in Harry's tent. He looked like a peasant next to Harry, who was wearing a simple yet elegant red doublet over a black shirt. There was a white lion embroidered onto the doublet.

The only person who was in even a similar state of disarray was Arya Stark. She had a grey and light blue dress on without any design's or particular patterns her hair was hastily brushed and she was covered in dirt.

She looked like an interesting person.

Sitting down on the last two seats on the left side of the table, an awkward silence descended over the group. Robert was gulping down his drink, while Stark sipped his water. Lady Sansa was glancing across the table at Joffrey, then away with a blush while the ponce (who reminded Harry of a far less frightening Voldemort) seemed to think that sneering was the current trend in expression. Tommen and Myrcella wanted to speak to Harry but kept fearfully glancing at Joffrey. Tommen was also imitating Sansa, as he kept shyly looking at Will out the corner of his eye. Harry would have to keep an eye on that: he liked Will as a brother but he might have to prepare to have a little chat with the boy.

Renly looked like he thought the tension was the funniest thing ever. Although he could be snickering about something different since he kept looking at Arya and then Joffrey before trying to muffle his laughter again. The girl was glaring at the Prince while clenching her fist around a knife that was slowly being stabbed into the table.

"So," Robert slurred, breaking the silence "Bowman; the Kingslayer tells me you're a good shot. That true?"

Will shifted, uncomfortable under such scrutiny, and bashfully replied with "I'm not bad, your grace"

Harry, unable to let his friend get away with such modesty interrupted "He's the best. You won't find a better archer this side of the Narrow Sea,"

Will squirmed under everyone's gaze, blushing particularly red when he met Tommen's eyes. Robert looked speculative, which probably wasn't a good thing. Joffrey seemed to forgo sneering and instead turned his nose up at them as though mocking Will for using a bow, the prick conveniently forgetting that he used a much easier to use crossbow, with a lever that did all the work for him.

Stark asked "Is he really as good as you say? The best, that is? The Glenmore guard is quite skilled,"

"They couldn't match him one on one,"

The sheer confidence that Harry expressed over this matter left no one in the room doubting the validity of the statement.

"Could you teach me," Arya asked eagerly, her eyes lit up in excitement.

"Arya!" Sansa gasped; shocked and scandalized that her sister would make such an unladylike request in front of the Queen and the Prince of all people. Arya didn't pay her any mind, focusing on Will who had on his usual please-look-away-and-never-notice-me-again expression that made an appearance whenever he was the center of attention.

"I suppose I could," he began nervously, hastening to add "If your father approves of course,"

Stark opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut across.

"Of course he does. Girl's got to know how to defend herself. Don't want another kidnapping do we?" Stark flinched at the last part of Roberts speech "Bowman; bastard. The two of you will teach the Lady Arya how to defend herself. Lady Sansa and my children too if they want"

The conversation seemed about to die but then Tommen spoke.

"Can I learn?" he asked softly.

"Absolutely not. You have no need to associate with a fifth born from a House as lowly as the Buckwell,"

"To hells with that woman, if the boy wants to learn then he can learn! Gods know you've babied them enough!" Robert shouted and with that it was ended, Tommen and Arya looking pleased as they shared a grin, probably the first time they had had any common interest's. Though Harry suspected the _real_ interest wasn't so shared.

Conversation was forced and strained as they passed through dinner. The boar that Will had killed was brought in and carved up. Robert had looked impressed with the young bowman, and had congratulated him on his kill causing Joffrey to adopt a jealous look and glare at the boy.

"Hill!" Robert called. Harry looked up "I hear you're decent with a blade yourself. Is that right?"

"More than decent, your grace," the old knight said from where he'd been quietly standing to the side, opposite Arys Oakheart "One day he could be listed with the likes of the Dragon Knight and Arthur Dayne, your grace,"

"And Barristan Selmy," Renly added quietly. Barristan inclined his head modestly.

"Good. You'll help Buckwell. I want Joffrey and Tommen up to form. Ned's girl can join you"

"Robert!" the Queen snapped while Harry simply muttered a 'yes, your grace', outraged at the thought of Harry teaching her children anything. Joffrey would be King and Tommen a Prince, not to mention that they were lions; what did they need training for, no one would dare threaten them and it was up to those who were lesser than them to lead armies.

"It was you who insisted on having one of your relatives teach them and Hill is the only competent one left, aside from your bloody brother. I won't have the Kingslayer be the one who teaches my sons how to fight!" Robert roared.

Cersei, fuming, backed down but everyone knew it was far from over.

Hours later found Harry riding through the streets of Kings Landing. He and Will rode alone, side by side, along a different path than the one the King and Royal Family was taking. Joffrey had to be forced out of the Wheelhouse and onto a horse, much the same as before he'd entered Winterfell. Sansa, Cersei and Myrcella stayed inside, though Tommen had quite willingly climbed atop a horse.

One good point in Harry's day was that Renly, before riding ahead, had finally told him about the incident at Darry. The young heir to the Lannister seat was amused and impressed by Arya disarming Joffrey and throwing his sword into the Trident. He was shocked by how blatantly cruel Joffrey had been to that butcher's boy, and saddened at the death of said boy. Harry mentally growled, all the while keeping that smile on his face. _Damn those Clegane's,_ he raged. He knew that Ser Gregor was a loyal bannerman, and that he had his uses but gods dammit they needed to be controlled better!

Unknown to everyone but the pair, William; upon hearing about the Hound riding the child down; had discreetly notched an arrow and aimed it at the Hounds back with a comment about 'using that bloody hound helm for target practice'. Harry was tempted to let him. Between his beloved godfather's death, his own death and Lord Tywin's tutoring many of Harry's less smart traits had been lost, but not to the extent of his Grandfather.

He was ambitious now, where he was content before: he wanted to rid himself of the name Hill, become Lord Lannister and then improve his House's position-though he wouldn't be as obsessed about it as Tywin.

He had amazing patience (he had to, to deal with Joffrey daily) whereas before he would have charged into any situation recklessly. He could politic well enough for someone his age; knew how to be charming, deceitful and keep a straight face when lying. He was ruthless and cunning, as opposed to his former nobility and honor.

However one thing he did not lose was his sense of justice.

He supposed it fit. So many Death Eater's escaped justice after the first war. Sirius was thrown into Azkaban without trial-where was justice? Bellatrix had escaped after she murdered his Godfather. He'd never been able to bring his killer to justice.

That was why Harry was tempted. He wanted Clegane to face justice for what he'd done. Nothing about the results of that day was just. But Clegane's actions were the worst. But the political throwback would be unbearable for Will, so Harry had stopped him. Told him that Clegane wasn't the main target.

The two dismounted as they arrived in the yard of the Red Keep. Aron Santagar was drilling some men on the far side. The Stark's were already here it seemed, as their luggage was being moved into the Tower of the Hand.

As they were leading their horses to the stable, a squire Harry recognized as his own (sort of) came running up to them. At ten namedays, Tywin Frey had stick figure arms and legs, with a plain, common looking face. He and his younger brother; another Walder, perhaps?; had been fortunate enough not to inherit the weasel-like features of his family. His father, Cleos, and three uncles: Lyonel, Tion and Walder: had not been so lucky. This branch of the family was descended from the second ever son of the Late Lord Frey, Emmon, who had somehow gotten lucky enough to marry Genna Lannister, Lord Tywin's sister.

"My Lord," Tywin said breathlessly. He had traveled to King's Landing a year ago when his father wanted him to get close to the future Lord of the Rock (after he'd gotten over his ten year sulk that it wouldn't be him, forgetting about Tywin's nephew's via either Kevan or Tygett, the former of whom was also still alive). The boy was a squire in all but name; seeing as Harry was officially still a squire himself. Barristan, though, had said he'd have been knighted before know if it was up to him. One usually gains a knighthood after squiring until they were deemed ready, or by proving themselves ready (in battle or in a tourney, usually). In Harry's case it would have been the former.

"Yes Tywin?" Harry asked. He liked the Frey boy. He was a bit like Colin Creevey in that he hero-worshiped Harry a bit. He was loyal too, and Harry felt certain that he had another loyal man in his squire.

"Ser Barristan is still with the King, and cannot attend the small council meeting. He wanted to send Ser Jaime," Barristan may not have liked Jaime for what he'd done, but he did not allow that dislike to spill onto Harry nor did it affect his respect for the latter's skill. Jaime was the most senior Kingsguard aside from the Lord Commander, and Selmy would send Jaime to a meeting if he couldn't attend. "But the Queen wanted Ser Jaime to guard her and so he sent me to ask you to attend in his stead,"

Harry was shocked "Me? Why me?"

"Ser Preston was also with the Queen. Ser Jaime said he didn't trust Moore, Trant was a talentless lickspittle and Blount was an old coward. Ser Arys was needed by Ser Barristan,"

William barked a laugh but covered it with a fake cough "Sorry, choked a little..."

"On what? Air?" Harry growled sarcastically. He sighed and then said to Tywin "Help Will with the horse's, and then bring my pack to my room. The rest of my belongings are on the baggage train,"

"Leave me to do the hard work," Will murmured as Harry walked off. _I hardly think the Small Council is easy,_ Harry mentally grouched. Before long he was arriving in the chamber where council meetings were held. He walked in just in time to hear Varys explain Ser Barristan's absence to Lord Stark.

"Then it's a good thing he thought ahead," Harry announced.

Walking into the room, he immediately began to analyze everyone in the room to find out how much of a threat they posed. He already knew who everyone was of course, having lived for two years in the same keep as them. But never this close. His conclusion: everyone aside from Stark was a threat. There was Varys; the bald, plump eunuch who served as the Master of Whispers. The man had the largest network of spies in the world, the web stretching the entire continent of Westeros and Essos. Harry did not know his true loyalties, his origin or his motivations and had no hold over him-threat.

Petyr Baelish with his long dark doublet and mockingbird pin. He had dark hair and a small, trimmed beard on his face. He was the Master of Coin, and as such controlled the crown's finances with a mysterious habit for being able to find coin no matter what. He also had his own spy's and he liked to think his network was better than the spiders. While he might have a marginally larger spy base in Kings Landing itself, Baelish had less contacts in Westeros as a whole than Varys did, and none across the sea. His loyalties were to himself, his motivation was to advance himself as much as possible (so Harry had observed) and he came from a minor house in the Vale until he was given the post on the recommendation of Jon Arryn. He was a threat for a very different reason.

Grand Maester Pycelle was a frail old man. He was supposed to be entirely neutral, but Harry knew that his loyalties lay with House Lannister. The question was, if it came down to it; and Harry knew it would; would he choose Harry or Cersei. Harry feared he already knew his answer, and if he was right then Pycelle was a threat.

Renly was as fashionably dressed as always. He beard was also trimmed and kept neat, his coal black hair the same. The man didn't take his job as Master of Laws seriously enough. Which was good. If he could befriend Renly, he could convince the man to give the responsibilities of his position off to someone Harry trusted: namely Will. With Will being effectively in charge of the Gold Cloaks (once he neuters Baelish) and Renly getting the prestige from the title, Harry would drastically increase his own power in Kings Landing. Renly was only a threat if someone else did the same thing first.

Ned Stark was not a threat: At all. Harry couldn't even entertain the notion without feeling the need to scoff.

Stannis Baratheon, the oft slighted middle brother, Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships was not in attendance. That was bad and it made Stannis a bigger worry than if he had been present. Most of the Royal Navy was under his command as were the Lords of the Narrow Sea. It would be even worse if the Stormlords suddenly remembered where they left their brains and realized that Stannis is the reason the Stormlands never fell during the rebellion. And that it was Stannis destroying the Greyjoy fleet which allowed Robert to even approach Pyke.

"Lord Lannister," Stark acknowledged "What brings you here?"

"Filling in for Ser Barristan, my Lord. And I'm not a Lannister yet,"

"Forgive me, my Lord, but as you are not Kingsguard then might I, perhaps, inquire as to..."

The old man was taking so long to speak, Harry just gave up on waiting. Pycelle was one person he would not be patient for "The Kingsguard is needed by the King and his family, not just Ser Barristan. He opted to send my father who sent me. I presume this will suffice," he said, handing a note signed by Jaime to him, and one by Barristan to Jaime, over to Lord Stark.

The man read them over "Yes, this seems to be in order," He paused and handed the notes to Pycelle who 'archived' them before looking at the young man across from him "Welcome to the Small Council, my Lord,"

Harry smiled politely and returned the greeting "Thank you, Lord Stark. It will be an honour to work with you. Lord Renly, Grand Maester, Lord Varys, Lord Baelish," he nodded respectfully at each person "I notice Lord Stannis is absent,"

"He's left for Dragonstone, not two weeks ago, so I am lead to believe," Stark didn't beat around the bush at least.

The meeting continued. He suspected it would not always be this entertaining, but then again he'd probably never be able to attend another. Then again, if he could impress Lord Stark, then he might be able to wrangle an advisory position out of it.

Renly had revealed that King Robert wanted to host a grand tourney in Stark's honour. Harry had of course already known that, as had Renly. The look on Stark's face as he read the amount of money from the sheet. Forty thousand dragons to the champion, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the winner of the melee and twenty thousand to the winner of the archery contest, plus another few thousand for whatever lavish feast Robert wanted. Harry was shocked by the amount. He didn't know that much was on the line. He was a Lannister and he was richer than most, but he didn't have infinite access to whatever he wanted, despite what many believed. Tywin was quite conservative and forty thousand gold dragons was _a lot_ of money. Harry could sell his horse, armour and sword and probably not get even five thousand dragons, despite the high quality.

"Can the treasury handle the expense?"

"What treasury? We have none" Baelish replied in all seriousness "I will have to borrow money. I'm sure the Lannisters will be accommodating. We already owe them three million. What does another hundred thousand matter?"

Stark seemed to be shocked into silence. Even Harry was slightly surprised. He knew there was a large debt but he didn't know it was that large. Stark managed to ask "Are you telling me that the crown is three million in debt?"

"The crown is six million in debt, lord Stark. The Lannisters are the biggest part of that, but we have also borrowed from the Iron Bank of Braavos, Lord Tyrell and several Tyroshi trading cartels. Of late I've had to borrow from the Faith of the seven. The High Septon haggles worse than a fish monger. I'll prepare a message for Lord Tywin"

Seeing an opportunity, Harry interceded "Let's not bother my Lord Grandfather until we have worked out what we can afford on our own,"

Littlefinger smirked "Mayhaps my Lord did not hear when I mentioned that we have no money?"

"Oh I understood that, Lord Baelish. But it occurred to me that this city has quite a lot of inns...and brothels,"

Littlefinger's sinister smile began rather fixed and his eyes tightened. Renly's eyes lit up in amusement and a small grin settled over his face. Harry had spent the early stages of the meeting, when they were discussing the need for a tourney at all, flattering Renly. The man was sharper than he seemed and knew Harry had an angle, but Renly soaked up the praise and his vanity won out over common sense.

Varys raised a delicate eyebrow. Pycelle furrowed his brows in contemplation. Stark simply gestured for him to continue.

"Well, I see it that the owners of these establishments will make a lot of profit on this tourney. Probably a few thousand dragons on top of their usual profit each" Harry explained. Baelish looked nervous "Say we put a tax on it; find out just how much they make on average and put, let's say, 30% tax on any extra income they make as a result of the Tourney. That should provide with about half of the cost,"

"B-but...no...my Lord, I don't think" Baelish stammered, so angry and flustered that he lost his charismatic tongue temporarily, which Renly seemed to find amusing beyond all measure.

"Oh you think its too little. Well, perhaps 40% then. My, you truly do want to save the crown from debt don't you?"

Baelish knew that he could not say anything against the tariff without it seeming like he actually did want the crown to be in debt. He backed down and conceded, vowing revenge.

Continuing, Harry said "For the rest, Lord Stark might be able to convince Robert to lower the winning by about five thousand each contest. The last part will be made up for in a little ante,"

"Ante?" Stark asked

Harry nodded "Ask the participants to pay a small amount to enter. It will make them fight harder since they know their own money will be part of the winnings, and they won't back out because of pride. I'll personally fund any remaining costs. If we do this right we could do this without borrowing a coin."

He could tell they were all impressed by him. Truthfully it had been something he'd been working on since he heard there would be a tourney. The offer to pay for some from his own coin was added when he learned how much it would cost, and the amount of tax he'd planned had been raised for the same reason. It was not a spur of the moment idea as the other council members seemed to think. He thanked the gods that his occlumency was still with him, allowing him to act and lie well enough to fool the Spider.

The meeting ended shortly thereafter. Littlefinger left in a huff, with Stark following him out much more calmly. Renly patted him on the shoulder while wiping a tear from his eye. Renly extended the invitation for Harry to join him for a meal one night. Pycelle slowly hobbled to the door.

Varys approached when they were alone.

"You handled that very well my Lord. Though I fear you may have made an enemy out of the mockingbird,"

"I know. I intended to. If he's angry, he's not focused. If he's not focused, then he makes mistakes. I need him to make mistakes,"

"You're playing a dangerous game, Lord Harry. I pray you know what you're doing. So often a mockingbird sings a song so similar to our own, one forgets that he's mocking,"

"Well then it's a good thing there's no one to hear my true song. No one I don't trust knows my true intentions,"

"And me, my Lord? Do you trust me?"

Harry turned to him "I should distrust you the most," he said simply

"But?"

Smiling wryly, Harry answered "Funnily enough, out of everyone here I distrust you least. Have a good day, Lord Varys"

Harry left the room feeling pleased with himself. His plan was in motion. It was time to begin the second stage.

* * *

 **So we get some possible insight to Harry's intentions and a little of his past is hinted at. Question: What do we think of Will? It's only been 2 chapters but I'd like to know your thoughts.**

 **Please Review; you know you want to.**

 **Cya next time! Yozza Out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Schedule was forced back by a few days citing unforeseen circumstance's (so tempted to say "consequences" here- shout out to whoever gets that reference)**

 **Response to reviews is at the end. Although there were some people who thought Tommen was maybe a bit young to be interested in Will, so here are some ages just to clarify:  
**

 **Harry, Robb, Jon- 16**

 **Joffrey, Sansa-14**

 **Arya, Will-12**

 **Myrcella- 11**

 **Tommen, Bran-10**

 **Rickon-6**

 **In the books, Sansa was only eleven and was completely smitten with Joffrey, so I didn't think it unreasonable that Tommen could have a crush on Will.**

 **Warning: A lot of scene changes in this chapter, as well as some violence and strong language.**

 **Without further adieu, on with the show:**

* * *

Chapter 3

 **HARRY**

Harry took a deep breath and steadied himself, before knocking three times on the sturdy wooden door in front of him. Night had fallen over the Red Keep about an hour before and Harry had barely seen anyone since he'd entered the Baratheon wing of the impressive keep, save for a few servants scurrying around performing one task or another, and a small number of guards dressed in the Baratheon colours of black and gold. His own sworn shield Ser Eryck had reluctantly accepted that Harry would not need protection for the meal he was about to attend.

Dressed in his finest clothes in order to make a good impression, Harry wore pressed black breeches and leather boots, a black shirt and a neat crimson red doublet with his personal sigil of an argent white lion, to represent his father's membership in the Kingsguard and his own bastard heritage. He would, of course, adopt the golden lion when he was legitimized. Although, he did rather like the title his guardsmen had been given for wearing the sigil on their shields. He might wait and only take the sigil when he became the Lord of Casterly Rock, which wouldn't be; Harry hoped; for a long time yet.

Much like Tywin had sent one hundred Lannister men for Cersei's protection, he had sent an equal number for Harry's own. The 'White Lions', as they were called, had the same numbers as Cersei's men, but had more time to hone their skills. While Cersei used her entire force to protect the Red Keep, herself and her children; cutting down on the amount of time they had to train; Harry only had two guards at a time, the rest of them being drilled by Ser Aron Santagar and Jacelyn Bywater; both experienced commander's.

The door opened and a steward into his fortieth decade identified him, before stepping aside to allow him entry and announce his presence to the owner of the solar.

Renly Baratheon sat, immaculate as always, at the head of a table laden with a spread of fine foods. There was a roasted mutton in the center of the table surrounded by plates of steaming vegetables. There was a freshly baked loaf of bread, a pie that Harry couldn't identify and some small cakes to finish of with. There was a bowl of soup already in front of Renly and another in the space to his right.

It had been a few weeks since that first council meeting, and Renly had invited him to share a light, 'friendly' meal in his solar much as he'd offered at the end of the meeting that had humiliated Baelish. Both he and Renly knew that the meeting was more for business than friendship, but the facade was good for both building a relationship with the other and keeping prying eyes a little less attentive.

"Harold Hill, of the House of Lannister," the steward announced. As usual, there was the introduction of him as 'Hill' and then the emphasis on 'Lannister' to mark him out as a bastard but an important one. Politics.

"Ah, Harry," Renly grinned warmly, and Harry returned a polite smile " I was beginning to think you weren't coming,"

"My apologies for being a little late, my Lord. My guards were reluctant to let me leave without an escort and it took some time to persuade them," Harry explained.

Renly gave a nod of understanding "Not to worry, my Lord," he said, smiling charmingly "I understand their hesitation. There are still those in the city that remember the sack of King's Landing. They would love to get their hands on any Lion they could,"

Harry winced at the thought of the sack.

"And are you one of those people, Lord Renly?"

"Not really. I was a boy of six at the time and you not even a year. I've not led you here to poison you, or anything" Renly assured him pouring a glass of wine for them both.

Taking a sip (after Renly, just to be safe) Harry recognized the wine immediately "Arbor Gold?"

"It pays to be friends with the Reach," Renly said casually. Apparently it was true; Arbor Gold was just about the most expensive wine in Westeros and here the Master of Laws was pouring it for a 'light' meal. Combined with the impressive spread of food that was before them, Renly was certainly going all out.

"You do like to make a good impression, don't you?"

"I hope to make the best, Lord Lannister," _though not truly a Lannister_ "I find it helps in the long run,"

The meal continued well into the night, with the two young men praising each other with compliments and telling jokes (often about Baelish and the other council members- save Stark, who Renly deeply respected it seems). After three course's Harry was feeling as though he would greatly regret the meal the following day, though the massive amount of food was helping to keep him sober after a few small cups. Renly was only slightly less focused than him, having had an extra cup.

Renly, Harry came to realize, was a genius for this kind of environment. For all that he gave the impression of not being competent in his role, he knew how to make friends. He said the right things in the right places and avoided any sore subjects. The name 'Kingslayer' was never mentioned, nor was the Sack or Harry's bastard heritage. The problem with Renly was that the job he held was too diverse. He had to negotiate with the other house's on a regular basis (he was good at that) but also keep control over the City Watch (which he wasn't so skilled at) as well as manage the Red Keep Dungeons, oversee the chief gaoler, chief undergaoler and undergaoler's and the Kings Justice. It was perhaps the largest workload after the Hand himself.

Eventually, the real business came up.

"So, Renly," Harry prompted, after they'd both finished laughing at some jape or another "I hear there are some problems with the City Watch, and the people of King's Landing,"

"It's not the people of King's Landing, it's the people of everywhere else that have come to Kings Landing. Them and the Gold Cloaks inability to keep the peace,"

"You are the Master of Laws you know," Harry mentioned "You could force them to do their jobs properly,"

"How?" Renly inquired "We have no money to offer a boost to their wages, no luxuries we can spare them, they're all corrupt anyway yet Robert would rather keep Slynt than someone who may be worse. They listen to Baelish more than me,"

"Perhaps I should make a donation, then," Harry offered "They follow Baelish because he gives them more gold. He can't give them as much any more, but I can,"

Renly quirked an eyebrow "Bribery?"

"Hardly; call it incentive," Harry had thought long and hard about how to improve the City Watch of Kings Landing. The problem was they didn't listen to Renly. He may have been their direct superior and the man who controlled their pay and appointment to officer rank, but the money came from Baelish. Not to mention that Robert protected them, because Baelish wanted them protected and so long as the crown needed money Robert would listen to Baelish. Harry had eventually come to the conclusion that he had greater influence over Robert. If Harry offered to call of a portion of the debt the king owed Tywin Lannister in exchange for Robert making an example out of a few officers, it would scare the most corrupt into actually listening.

The extra pay was just extra motivation, for both them and Renly.

But still, a little more pressure couldn't hurt "How many officers are there?"

"About fifty or so; a sergeant for every fifty men, a lieutenant for every two hundred, a captain for every five hundred and the Commander himself," Renly quickly estimated, scratching the recently trimmed beard on his chin as he had been doing all night, the regrowing hair irritating him.

"Then it wouldn't hurt to tell them that I have fifty men I could replace them with," Harry smirked.

"You know, I think this might just work," with that, the two men shook hands and began to plot out the finer details of their plan.

 **EDDARD**

On the other side of the castle, four days later, a different discussion was taking place. Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King was sat in the office of his longtime friend Robert Baratheon. Where once there had been a fierce warrior of incredible strength there now sat a man the Ned had barely recognized when he climbed off his horse in Winterfell all those months ago.

"Why do you want the boy on the council Ned?" Robert grumbled, a horn of ale still held in his firm grip which was still amazingly strong.

"He gave good counsel at the first meeting. I would have it again. As I understand there had been no word from Dragonstone?" Ned replied, shifting as the scorching heat of the sun came through the windows, beads of sweat rolling down his head as a result of the stifling heat. It was one of the hottest days he'd ever experienced, so hot that even the southerners that thought Moat Cailin cold in the summer were feeling the draining effect the sun had on them.

 _Hopefully the heat will have abated by the time the tourney comes around, else I truly pity those armoured riders_

"None," Robert grumbled, a little annoyed at Stannis for leaving.

"Then appoint Ser Harold as Master of Ships until Stannis returns," Ned suggested. He had been here for a good ten minuted already, trying to convince his friend that having Harold Hill on the Small Council would be the best option. Something about a flogged Sergeant and five dismissed gold cloaks had somewhat soured Robert's attitude towards the boy, but the miraculous five hundred thousand dragons that had been removed from the Iron Throne's debt to Casterly Rock had improved it again- Ned didn't know what arrangement the two had come to, but it had Roberts opinion of the youngest Lannister changing direction faster than the King could down a horn of ale.

It was worrying how much influence the Lannister's had; at least not all of them seemed to have bad intentions, Ned mused, his thoughts on the bastard son of the Kingslayer.

While he suspected the Lannister's were behind the murder of Jon Arryn, and the two attempts on his son's life, Ned did not think that the young son of Jaime Lannister had any involvement in any of it. He wasn't even in Winterfell, had never met Bran and from what Ser Barristan had told him, the boy was a good lad; cunning and ruthless to be sure, but with his own sort of honour to him. Lines he wouldn't cross. Besides, even if Hill was behind anything, or even involved, then Ned would much rather have an enemy where he could see them. He may not have been a politician, but he was a soldier. And any soldier knows that an unseen enemy is much more dangerous than the one right in front of you.

"Not a knight yet," Robert muttered, before sighing "Alright, fine. You can have the boy on the council. I'll write it up later, for now your word will suffice,"

Ned bowed and left the room.

"My Lord?" Jory asked when Ned approached him.

"Find Harold Hill, inform him there is a small council meeting soon and that he has a seat waiting for him," Ned chose his words to be as neutral as possible, not too demanding yet hoping to get the point across that the boy was supposed to be there. Jory bowed and quickly turned to complete his task, dutiful and loyal as he always was.

 **HARRY**

"So explain to me why exactly you are giving Lannister gold away for nothing," Jaime said from his seat opposite his son.

Four days after his supper with Renly, and his investment into Renly's duties had worked as Harry had hoped it would. While the City Watch was still struggling to stop every fight or crime in the city, the number of disturbances had dropped. Renly's price had been getting Harry to admit that it would only be fair if every member of the Law office got a pay rise, including Renly himself. Harry hadn't argued the point; it was worth it. Though he was now out of pocket. Between the tourney and his donation to Renly he had spent all of his allowance, and would have to wait another three weeks for a stack of gold from his grandfather.

Oh well, it was money well spent and if all went well he'd have some Tourney winnings soon.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, playing dumb.

"Don't pretend. Those loans made Robert more and more indebted to our family, and you seem to be working against that. So start talking," his father replied, some authority laced into his voice.

Sighing, Harry responded "Yes, it made Robert owe us. But three million dragons? Do you honestly believe any of us who are alive today will live long enough to see that debt repaid? Especially when the throne owes the Iron Bank AND the Tyrell's, AND the Tyroshi, AND the Faith as well? I don't. Robert will only borrow more and more, and I doubt Joffrey will be a good enough ruler to refill the Throne's treasury.

"So I try and see that three million dragons not as a loan but as an investment. The City Watch, my position on the council, my guards in the city, all of it is to boost our own position. We can lean on Robert and trade parts of the debt for things that we want, that we need. Face it, father, we need influence in other areas if we want to control Joffrey once he's King. There's only so many times we could threaten to recall a debt we know he can't pay before he realizes it's a bluff. And while my Lord Grandfather might want that money back, he won't endanger his precious legacy by crippling his royal grandson by recalling it,"

Jaime was a soldier, not a politician. But one didn't grow up as the son of Tywin Lannister without picking up a basic understanding of politics. He could see where Harry was going with this, and he did agree in some ways about Joffrey. They could have the whore-monger pay off the debt by giving them positions and influence that they could prosper from, as opposed to a loan that Tywin, Jaime and maybe even Harry wouldn't ever see a return on.

"I presume my father had approved this?" Jaime asked

"He told me to try. I'm allowed to clear half the debt, then he'll look over what I've achieved and see if it's worth continuing," Harry shifted slightly, beginning to feel nervous about the whole thing. What if he failed? He would have ruined his entire house.

Jaime watched as his soon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The flicker of apprehension faded, and Jaime smiled in pride. There was a time when Jaime would have to talk his son back into calmness whenever he thought he'd done something wrong. The boy would become a wreck, thinking up all the worst possible outcomes to whatever he thought he'd done. It felt good to see his son, the boy he was responsible for, grow into the confident man before him. He was like Jaime's own father in that way, holding an aura of command and pressence to him. But he wasn't as cold and detached as Tywin was. While the Old Lion of Casterly Rock held some love for Kevan and Genna, and of course Jaime and Cersei, it was no where near the level of devotion Harry had for Tommen and Myrcella, his half siblings (not that he knew it).

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter," Harry called

Ser Lyman Jast stepped into the room. The captain of Harry's guardsmen was a tall and broad armed man with light brown hair that fell to his neck, a thick, full beard of the same colour on his face. A long scar ran from his above his right eye, across his nose and ended just left of his mouth; the result of barely escaping a brutal axe attack. The man had been a squire of thirteen namedays during the sack of Kings Landing, serving Quentyn Banefort. He was a veteran of the Greyjoy rebellion during which he had helped to successfully push back an Ironborn raid on his family keep; one that claimed the lives of his father, uncle and cousin, leaving his brother Antario as Lord.

Harry trusted him far enough to have appointed the man as his captain. He occasionally carried messages for him, but Ty was usually the one who did that. Harry was reluctant to trust Lyman too much, as he knew that anyone could be bought. He could count the people he trusted completely on one hand: his father, his uncle Tyrion and Will.

"Jory Cassel to see you my Lord," Jast reported, allowing entry for the Northerner.

Harry recognized him as Eddard Stark's own captain.

"My Lord's, Lord Stark has sent me to inform you that you are summoned to sit on a small council meeting as replacement Master of Ships," Cassel spoke clearly, and neutrally, not betraying anything with his tone or expression.

"Very well. I'll take my leave, father. Matter's of the realm and all," Jaime nodded to show his understanding.

Harry knew from Renly and Will's contacts (truly his own, but it wouldn't do to have any direct interaction) that there was a small council meeting set to begin in only a few moments, and that it would take that time to get to the chambers. Cassel would have found him sooner if he hadn't been visiting his father in the White Sword Tower, so it wasn't the man's fault if he was late.

 **SMALL COUNCIL CHAMBERS**

Harry had entered the room just as the rest of them were sitting down. Eight seats were lined along one side of the table. Stark sitting in one of the two central seats with Varys, Renly and an empty seat on his left, while to his right was the other (larger) chair, Baelish, Pycelle and then a final unoccupied chair (Ser Barristan's, on the occasions Robert had him attend).

"Lord Hill," Stark greeted with a nod, while Renly grinned and waved the chair on his left. Harry accepted.

"My Lords," he greeted them "I am told I am to serve as Master of Ships?"

"We have no hint on when Lord Stannis means to return from Dragonstone. A temporary replacement was required,"

The meeting was immensely boring. The only respite's were Renly's constant goading of Littlefinger, Harry often chipping in to tag-team on the sly man.

Eventually, Lord Janos Slynt of the City Watch was standing in front of them, wearing layers or gold coloured chainmail and a gold cloak draped across his square shoulders. His helm was carried under one arm. Harry was of the opinion that he strongly resembled a toad, not unlike a pink loving teacher he'd once had. Both Umbridge and Slynt had been corrupt sadists as well. How unfortunate. That really just meant that Harry intended to unload all of his anger against 'dear Dolores' on the idiot he'd not really listened to.

He mentioned the toad comparison to Renly when the man had marched in. Varys probably didn't enjoy the wine that had been knocked on his robes from Renly's valiant attempt to keep from laughing.

Stark was sweating and drinking from his cup every few minutes. The heat of Kings Landing didn't seem to agree with him, which Harry found understandable. The cold of the North hadn't agreed with his father or cousin's either. Then again Renly didn't seem too comfortable either, and Pycelle was dabbing his face with a cloth. Even Harry, normally good with warm weather, found his collar a bit too tight.

"It's the Hand's Tourney that's causing all the trouble my Lord's,"

Stark sighed "The King's tournament. I assure you the Hand wants no part in it,"

"Call it what you will Lord Stark sir, the City is packed with people and more flooding in every day," Slynt said "Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the street of silk,"

Harry noticed Baelish look up and stop writing in his ledgers when the brothel fire was mentioned.

"Dreadful," Varys voiced, without even the energy to properly fake sympathy for the commander, nor muster any up for the victims of said events

"If you can't keep the King's peace," Renly began "then perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can," placing a piece of fruit in his mouth as he finished

"I believe I have just the man," Harry spoke up "Experienced commander and fighter, and he'll work for half of Slynt's wages,"

"Perhaps we should drop take some of your pay, Lord Slynt, and see how this other ser does in your place," Renly threatened

"I need more men," Slynt ground out from between clenched teeth

"You'll get fifty, Lord Baelish will see it paid for," Stark commanded

The Master of Coin looked up in surprise "I will?"

"It's your brothel's most of the trouble starts in; use their profit to keep the peace of close them down while the tourney's on," Harry suggested, smirking at Baelish's glare

"My Lords," Stark warned, before turning back to Slynt "I'll also give you twenty of my household guards, until the crowds have left,"

"And fifty of my own," Harry added cheerfully from his seat, taking a drink to hide his smile as Janos barely repressed a flinch.

"Thank you my Lord Hand sir, Lord Hill," he responded "I'll put them to good use,"

Slynt bowed and left, and once he'd made his way out of the council chambers, Stark groaned inaudibly and drank once again, muttered about how he wanted the tourney to be over as quick as possible. Unfortunately, that caused Varys to comment on prosperity for the realm and Baelish to add his own two stags.

"I'm sure the tourney fills many pockets," Stark said, while Baelish gave him a cunning smile "If that is all, my Lords,"

He stood and with him so did the rest of the council. Harry would have liked to get another dig at Baelish but he was rather looking forward to submerging himself in cold water, and thus refrained, opting to give Stark a respectful nod and began to leave. Varys inclined his head in a graceful half bow, while Baelish gave a deep, mocking bow. Pycelle hobbled around the table, muttered about envying the northmen their summer snows on days like today.

Harry ignored him.

While the meeting had been held, Jory Cassel and Ser Lyman Jast had been guarding the door. Ever since he'd met the man outside Ser Jaime's chambers, Jast ahd been wondering. Cassel looked familiar from somewhere.

When the nagging feeling became too much, he turned to the man "Have we met?"

Cassel looked at him, squinting slightly "Your name, ser?"

"Ser Lyman Jast,"

"Aye, we've met," Cassel smiled and pointed to his eye, where a scar adorned the edge "Pyke,"

"Yes I remember you," Jast returned the smile, then gestured to his own face "I got this there. Would have carved my face in two if you hadn't killed the bastard. Who was it? A Goodbrother?"

"A Harlaw," Jory corrected "His brother nearly took my damned eye for it, I saw the scythe on his helm,"

"Thank you for that, saving my life" Lyman said after a moment of silence "I wasn't focused, at the time. Left my guard down to kill as many as I could"

Jory nodded in understanding "I heard your line was almost extinguished,"

"It was," Jast confirmed "Just after they burnt Lannisport, they stopped near Kayce on their way back to Pyke. A few ship of raiders came for our holdfast. We fought them of but they killed my father, my uncle, my cousin. Couldn't stop them from taking my sister or butchering my mother. My grandfather lost most of his family so soon after grandmother passed, and he died of the heartbreak,"

"I'm sorry," Jory placed a hand on Lyman's shoulder

"Don't be. You saved me and helped put down that rebellion. That makes you a bloody hero in my books," Lyman joked, before they returned to guarding the door.

 **EDDARD**

Ned was returning to his chamber's in the Tower of the Hand, carrying the large, tedious looking tome he'd borrowed from Pycelle. The book had been one Jon Arryn had been reading shortly before his death, the night before it seemed. What Jon had wanted with a long read about the many lineage's of the seven kingdoms. It had been written only recently, several years after Prince Tommen's birth.

As he made to open the door, he heard more than saw someone at the top of the stairs, and, upon turning, discovered it to be his daughter Arya barefoot and standing on one foot, dangerously balanced right on the edge of the top set. She was swaying and didn't look too steady.

Without waiting for a question, she immediately said "Syrio says a water dancer, can stand on one toe for hours," grinning a little as she said it.

Robert had surprised Ned when he told Harold and William to train Arya alongside Tommen and, apparently, Harold's own squire, a young Tywin Frey. He had let them have a few lesson's, though from what he'd heard her slight frame wasn't able to easily adopt to the young Lannister's training very well. He wasn't shocked. He knew that Hill would be a highly skilled swordsman and Buckwell was not unskilled either, even if his talents lay with a bow; something both Arya and Tommen enjoyed learning, Arya already having some skill with ranged weapons as she'd loved to prove in Winterfell. Prince Joffrey hadn't even tried to learn with his brother and future good-sister. Tommen on the other hand spent as much time as possible with his tutor's. He loved his archery lessons, even if it was a work in progress, and his swordwork was improving, Ned knew from having watched a few sessions.

His daughter had been disappointed that she couldn't use the swords as well, so when Ned had seen her with the thin Braavosi style sword, he'd tracked down and hired Syrio Forel, a famed fighter from across the Narrow Sea, to teach her. Arya loved the lessons.

"It's a hard fall down these steps," Ned commented

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better," she smiled, before standing on both feet again "Tomorrow, I'm going to be chasing cats,"

"Cat's?" Ned asked, bewildered, before realizing exactly what she was about to say "Syrio says..."

"He says every swordsman should study cats; they're as quiet as shadows and light as feathers. You have to be really quick to catch them,"

"He's right about that," Ned said, nodding as he began to turn to enter his chambers to get the rather heavy book out of his arms. But Arya's next words made him stop and turn back to face her.

"Now that Bran's awake, will he come and live with us?"

"Well," he said, trying to find the right words to explain to Arya without saying that Bran might not be able to make such a journey, at least not anytime soon "He needs to get his strength back first,"

"He wants to be knight of the Kingsguard. He can't be one now, can he?"

Ned shook his head slightly and looked down "No," before climbing the steps to sit next to his daughter "But, someday, he could be lord of a holdfast, could sit on the King's council, or he might raise castle's, like Brandon the Builder,"

"Can I be Lord of a holdfast?" she questioned, an excited gleam in her eyes.

Ned chuckled slightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead "You, will marry a high lord and rule his castle, and your sons shall be knights and princes and Lords,"

"No," she said, disappointed "That's not me,"

She stood and retook her position at the top of the stairs.

Ned watched her with a smile.

Later that day, he was walking through the gardens when Petyr Baelish fell into step next to him.

"I hear you're reading a boring book," he said, as if the notion was a very amusing subject for him.

Sighing, Ned responded with "Pycelle talks too much,"

"Oh, he never stops," they rounded a corner "Have you heard of Ser Hugh of the Vale?"

Ned shook his head in the negative.

"Not surprising," the Valeman muttered "Until recently he was only a squire: Jon Arryn's squire," Ned looked at him slightly shocked "He was knighted almost immediately after his master's untimely death,"

"Knighted for what?" Baelish gave a grim smile and raised his eyebrows "Why are you telling me this?"

"I promised Cat that I'd help you,"

"Where is Ser Hugh," Ned asked as they descended some steps, absently noticing the people milling around the gardens and the stone fountain just ahead of them, and lowering his voice slightly "I'll speak to him,"

"A singularly bad idea, do you see that boy," Ned looked and saw a young boy, less than eight sitting against a tree drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick, but watching Ned intently "One of Varys' little birds. The Spider had taken a great interest in your comings and goings. Now look, there,"

He was talking about an older man. Bearded with little hair left on his head and what he had was white and flecked with shades of grey. His skin was dark and weathered, his hands likely calloused and rough from the ploughing he likely did, judging by the hoe in his hands. He kept glancing up at the pair as they made their way past.

"That one belongs to the queen," They passed the fountain "And do you see that Septa, pretending to read her book,"

Ned saw a Septa, younger than Mordane, sitting next to a young nobleman's daughter who was attempting her needlework. She held a book in her hands but though her eyes were on the page they were not following the words, rather glancing up repeatedly.

"Varys or the Queen?" he asked resignedly

"No, she's one of mine," he casually admitted, causing Ned to look at him in shock "And now that squire,"

Ned noticed the young man. Dark blonde hair, wearing plain, undecorated clothes polishing a sword, though once again, his eyes were not watching his work, but rather the two of them. Or, Ned noticed, Baelish in particular.

"Let me guess; Pycelle's?" he asked sarcastically

"William Buckwell's," Baelish gave a shark like grin "And we all know who he reports to,"

 _Harold Hill,_ Ned thought.

"Is there someone in your service that you trust completely?" his wife's childhood friend asked, stopping and facing him. Ned immediately thought of Jory.

"Yes,"

"The wiser answer was 'no', my Lord," he advised "Get a message to this 'Paragon' of yours, discreetly. Send him to question Ser Hugh. After that you might want to send him to visit a certain armourer, in the city. He lives in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel,"

"Why?"

"I have my observers, as I said. And it's possible they saw Lord Arryn visit this armourer, several times in the weeks before his death,"

"Lord Baelish," Ned began slowly, reassessing the man in front of him "Perhaps I was wrong to distrust you,"

"Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed off your horse," was all he said, before beginning to walk away, but, before Ned could do the same, Baelish stopped, and said "You might want to be quick about this. I have also heard that Lord Hill has also been visiting the same armourer, thrice now since he returned to King's Landing,"

 **Tourney Grounds**

Jory strode up to the knight who was measuring paces along the jousting grounds. Ser Hugh was tall, with curly, sandy blonde hair and a slight beard of the same dusty colour. He was dressed lightly, in a blue-grey breeches and a lighter blue shirt. Jory was still not entirely fitting in with all the pomp and extravagance of Kings Landing, and it showed in the way he dressed. A heavy chainmail shirt beneath a plain brown, leather jerkin seemed out of place among the bright colours of the south.

"Ser Hugh?" he asked just to make sure, he was talking to the right person. The man waved him off.

Sighing, Jory prayed for the patience to deal with a southern knight "Ser Hugh!"

"As you can see, I'm busy," he snapped, before turning as if to continue.

"I'm here on behalf of Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King," he said slowly, making the man realize who was really asking him.

But of course, southern pride got in the way "I'm sorry I didn't catch your name, Ser?"

"No ser, I'm not a knight,"

"I see. Well, it just so happens that I am," with that he continued his counting.

 **Street of Steel**

Ned listened to Jory's report on Ser Hugh with a frown as the two rode down the Street of Steel atop two white horses. The crowd parting for them as they approached.

"He said he'd be glad to talk to the Hand himself. He's a knight, you see," Jory said, with sarcastic understanding

"Ah, a knight," Ned copied his friends tone "They strut around like rooster's down here. Even the ones who've never seen an arrow coming their way"

"Not all of them, my Lord," Jory replied, thinking of the down to earth Ser Lyman Jast and honorable Ser Barristan Selmy.

"Aye, I suppose you're right," Ned admitted as they dismounted

"You shouldn't be out here my Lord," Jory cautioned "There's no telling who has eyes where,"

"Let them look,"

Ned made his way inside Tobho Mott's shop. The heat from the furnace hit him, but Ned was no stranger to a forge's heat, and was able to avoid reacting. There were rows upon rows of quality swords, axe's, mace's and hammer's (which had become a lot more popular after Robert defeated Rhaegar on the Trident with one. There was armour, also. Helm's and breastplate's, some of them plate. Not really something a Northerner would choose; them preferring some mail, boiled leathers and furs; but good material.

"The former Hand did call on me, my Lord," Mott answered Ned's question honestly, wiping sweat from himself as he spoke "Several times, though I regret to say he did not honor me with his patronage,"

"What did Lord Arryn want?"

"Always wanted to see the boy,"

"I'd like to see him as well,"

Mott nodded and turned as he spoke "As you wish, my Lord. Gendry!" he motioned towards Ned with a tilt of his head. A strong looking boy in the back of the forge put down his hammer and the sword he was forging, making his way over "Here he is, strong for his age and works hard. Show the hand the helmet you made,"

Ned watched as the boy turned and picked up a bull's head helmet, wondering what Jon had wanted with the boy. The helm was handed to him, and Ned was surprised by the skill behind it. He almost believed it was Mott himself who'd made it, rather than Gendry.

"This is fine work," Ned complimented

"It's not for sale," earning a sharp reprimand from his master "I made it for me,"

"Forgive him, my Lord?"

"There's nothing to forgive," handing the helmet back, he made inquiries as to what the boy and Jon had spoken about when he'd visit. As it turned out, Ned old mentor had asked questions about whether Gendry was being treated well, and if he liked it there and, most importantly, what his mother looked like.

"She had yellow hair," the boy said, when Ned asked. The Lord of Winterfell's eyes widened a little.

"Look at me," he said, the boy obeying, slowly lifting his head to look Ned in the eyes. Ned saw it then, wondering how he hadn't already when he'd made the comparison between another two men on that first day in Kings Landing. The blue eyes, pitch black hair, the facial structure. It was all there, making the boy look like a much younger version of the man Ned had once known.

"Get back to work lad," and Gendry went back to his forge "If the day ever comes when that boy would rather wield a sword than forge one, you send him to me,"

"I would my Lord, but another offer of the same kind has already been made," Mott explained.

"By who?"

"The Queen's nephew, my Lord. Harold Hill,"

Ned bit his lip a little as he nodded and moved out of the shop after only a few more questions about why Harry had visited Mott's shop.

"He had some work for me to do on his sword. He wanted a stone added to the pommel. Curious thing; it was a purple so dark it seemed black, with an odd crack down the middle of it," Mott had told him.

Making his way back to his horse, Ned thought over what he had learned. Harry knew of Gendry and was interested for some reason. Jon had been interested in Gendry too, asking questions about his mother to try and confirm if his father was who Ned had thought it was, who Jon would have seen in the boy. _Yellow hair,_ Ned thought absently _Like the Lannister's_.

"Did you find anything, my Lord?"

"King Robert's bastard son,"

 **TOURNEY GROUNDS**

Days later, the tourney was beginning. Sansa, Arya, Jeyne Poole and Septa Mordane were sitting in the stands, just a little to the right of the royal platform. Sansa was more than excited. She and Jeyne had been waiting for this event for a long time, both of them wishing to see the noble knights compete for the chance to crown the woman of their choice as Queen of Love and Beauty. Already, the colours were dazzling her. The many banner's of the different families filled the stands, set up next to where that family was sitting.

She couldn't see any northern house's, but that was expected. She always thought the men of her homeland dull in that way, not having very many tourney's. But she did see the banner of the Blackwood's and Bracken's; as far from each other as they could; the Towers of House Frey, House Royce's runes, the Tyrell rose, the Lannister lion and so many more.

The King was seated on his royal chair, on the platform wearing an elegant purple doublet that Sansa thought was wasted on the man, over a gold coloured shirt. His golden crown was already sitting atop his black curls. The Queen sat next to him, a regal look on her face. She had what Sansa saw to be an elegent gown embroidered with golden lions and an amazing hairstyle.

She could see the Hound in his black armour, greatsword on his back, standing guard to the left of the Queen, while Ser Barristan stood to the King's right.

Joffrey was wearing a dark purple shirt and doublet, with a plum coloured, beautifully decorated cape over on arm. He was sitting on a much more comfortable chair than most of the guest's, thought less rich than his parents. His younger siblings were opposite him, Myrcella in a well tailored gold and yellow gown, while Tommen wore a very dark green jacket over a white shirt. Sansa screwed her nose up in disgust; she knew he was trying to follow that horrid William Buckwell's footsteps. The boy who'd arrived to a royal dinner dressed in rags covered in dirt. It was really no surprise to her that Arya was friends with him, but she thought that Tommen, as a Prince, should know better.

"Excuse me, may I sit here," a voice asked, and she turned to see a man she didn't know with a neatly trimmed beard and dark hair with flecks of grey on his temple's.

"Lord Baelish!" her Septa said in surprise "Sansa, this is Lord Petyr Baelish. He..."

"An old family friend," he said, sitting in the empty seat next to Sansa "I knew your mother very well,"

"Why do they call you 'Littlefinger'?" Arya asked

"Arya!"

"It's quite alright. You see, I come from a stretch of land known as the Finger's, and I was always quite a small child. So you see; it's an exceptionally clever nickname,"

Right as he finished speaking, a trumpet blew and they all turned their attention towards the lists as many knights rode out, stopped in front of the kind, tipped their lance's and then made their way around the tourney grounds, back to their pavilion's. Sansa saw Jason and Patrek Mallister, Robar and Andar Royce, a huge man in hulking black armour and a yellow surcoat; the Kingsguard members Ser Meryn Trant, Boros Blount, Preston Greenfield, Mandon Moore and Jaime Lannister all of them in white but for Ser Jaime's golden armour. Jeyne fell in love with Beric Dondarion the minute she saw him. Jory and Alyn and some more of her father's guards were riding, too.

There were many more knights, but one she noticed was a tall man (though not as tall as some others) wearing a suit of black plated armour. On the center of his chest was a red blazon with a white lion in the center. The dark blonde hair and uncanny resemblance to her Joffrey completed the look, and Sansa knew that she was looking at Harold Hill.

It wasn't long before the joust began.

There was a lot of matches. And most of the weaker riders were eliminated early on: hedge knights, mystery knights, most guardsmen, and the lesser knights and lords. After that it got much more intense. Jory Cassel was a very skilled rider, and was showing the southern knights that you didn't need to be a ser to be skilled. He defeated the Redwyne twins, Horas and Hobber, as well as Black Walder Frey before losing to Lothar Brune, and even that was by declaration after three tilts with neither man falling.

His brother's in arms, though, Harwyn and Alyn, were defeated by Balon Swann and Trant, respectively. Harry's watched as his father defeated a hedge knight, a young knight of the Reach, Andar Royce and Bryce Caron of Nightsong in quick succession. Renly lasted only until after only the strongest were left before the Hound unhorsed him.

Beric Dondarion sent a dishonored yet skilled hedge knight to the ground before falling to Thoros of Myr, who was in turn knocked down by Jason Mallister, who also defeated Ser Aron Santagar, the Master at Arms of the Red Keep who'd been awarded a draw with Lothar Brune. Brune was defeated by Royce. Then it was Harry's turn again. He'd already won his tilts against a hedge knight, a younger son of a Lord of the Reach, and a Stormlander knight. He was now facing Lord Mallister, who had proven himself against more skilled men than Harry had.

Harry took a deep breath. He needed to do this. He didn't have to win, just impress Robert. He climbed onto his black stallion and accepted his lance from Ty, who had faithfully served him in his previous joust's, and wouldn't let him down now.

As the herald sounded the beginning of the joust, Harry spurred his horse into. He never took his eyes off the rapidly approaching man. He kept his eyes fixed just above the silver eagle adorning the purple shield, allowing his eyes to guide the lance. He never let his mind wander. He droned out the cheers of the crowd, the thundering of the hooves, the blood rushing in his ears.

Crack!

As Mallister and he met in the center, his lance crashed against very edge of his shield, knocking him off balance, while the Lord of Seaguard's lance glanced off his own red shield. Mallister managed to regain his seating the first time, but wasn't so lucky on the second pass when Harry struck his true target, Mallister's armoured shoulder, just above the shield. He'd noticed that Lord Jason, dropped his shield ever so slightly when he was about to strike, and took advantage of it.

As the Riverlord graciously accepted the offered hand to pull him back to his feet, the crowd went wild, cheering his name. He could see money exchange hands among the nobles and Renly grinned and showed him the bag of gold he'd just won off Baelish. Harry nodded back, before he led his horse back to his tent, climbing down and allowing Ty to help him remove his helm and gauntlets.

The next joust took a while to set up. Mallister's horse had knocked over a stand, which had to be stood back up before they could continue. Though the King was growing impatient.

"Been standing here for days! Start the bloody thing before I piss myself!" Robert boomed, causing the Queen to roll her eyes and leave in disgust.

Harry smirked _My lovely aunt; what a charming sneer, as always._

He did wince though when he saw the draw. Ser Hugh of the Vale, Jon Arryn's former squire, had only had easy matches so far. Against the Mountain he had no chance. From what Harry could see of the man's pale face, he knew it too. Still, he held his head high as he carried the shield in of the Arryn's (which he had no real right to) to his end of the list. Upon the herald's command, both rider's made one ineffective pass at one another. It happened on the second.

When they met for the second time, Gregor's lance crashed against Hugh's shield, riding up and splintering, leaving a huge piece of lance stuck through Hugh's throat. The man lay on the floor, gargling on his own blood as the gleaming silver armour he'd had specially made for the tourney was coated with red. Robert sat up a little straighter. The crowds gasped and many women (mostly the younger ones, including Sansa Stark, the naive girl who fancied herself in love with Joffrey). Myrcella covered her mouth with her hands, Joffrey looked _gleeful_ of all things. Tommen had jumped to his feet, his eyes wide in shock.

Hugh was still writhing, in both pain and terror.

Harry glanced at Will, who nodded, and then they were running; towards Hugh, ignoring the spectator's surprise. A Lannister he may be, but he hadn't lost everything from when he was Harry Potter. Mercy was something he still offered if it was possible.

In this case it was.

They skidded to a stop beside the gasping man, crowding around him, Harry covering the wound with his hands, trying vainly to stem the flow of blood. He'd landed right in front of the Stark girls. Sansa was pale and shaking as Baelish whispered something in her ear. Whatever he said, it was enough to get her to focus on him and the Hound, rather than the young knight. Arya seemed angry,and was glaring at the Mountain with loathing. Sansa's friend, Pond or something, had been led away by their Septa.

Will quickly examined the wound, seeing if their was some way they could save him. He pressed gently on the skin around the splinter, more blood spurting out as he did. When the young archer lifted his head, met Harry's eyes and shook his head Harry knew what he was saying. _We can't save him_ , Will's eyes said. They both now had his blood all up their arms and some had sprayed onto their faces, but both had enough experience with blood to ignore it.

Harry looked down and sighed. Will put a hand on the long, curved hunting knife on his hip and let Hugh see it. The dying man nodded as much as he could, which wasn't much, more moving his eyes than his head, the splinter preventing his movement. Will met Harry's eyes and Harry nodded. _Go on_ , he didn't say. Harry pulled open Hugh's breastplate, which wouldn't do him any more harm or good now, and let Will drive his knife between the man's ribs and straight into his heart.

With one last shuddering gasp, Ser Hugh of the Vale breathed his last.

It took them a while to calm things down. Hugh's body was taken to the Silent Sister's and Ser Barristan volunteered to stand vigil for him, in place of anyone else close to him. Eventually the jousts resumed, though Sansa's friend didn't return, nor did a handful of other girls.

Harry found himself leaning against a wall near to his pavilion, as another pair of knights rode over the spot that a man had died on as though nothing had happened. Such was the way of the world. Will, standing quietly next to him, was turning the knife over in his hands. Though clean of Hugh's blood, he knew Will could still see it, in his mind. The same way Harry still saw Wormtail's blood on his hands after Harry had near beat him to death in an interrogation at the beginning of his horcrux hunt.

"One day," Will said "I will kill one of those Clegane's. I don't care how many times they drive a sword into me. I don't care how many bones they break, or how much of my blood they spill- I will kill one of them. When that day comes, don't stop me,"

"You won't. I hope you won't. I'm rather fond of you and I may need them, monsters though they are," Harry countered, pushing off the wall to go and don his now clean armour before his next match. he stopped as he went to step past William, leaning in next to Will's ear "But if you do, I'd prefer to keep Gregor," the two both looked at the man towering over any others, next to the banner of the three dogs "No matter how much I hate him,"

He left.

Will remained a moment longer, looking at the Mountain and remembering the scared look in Hugh's eyes. He saw the mutilated body of Mycah, the butcher's boy, when he looked at Sandor. The difference was Hugh was a man grown, Mycah was a boy. The other difference was Sandor was following orders. Gregor was not.

"Fair enough," Will whispered, not entirely sure whether he would stick to that agreement or not.

* * *

 **Wow that took a long time to write: so the rest of the tournament will be next chapter, as will the answer to a question many reviewers have asked me about (so I won't answer questions about magic)  
**

 **Reviews:**

 **Lectio Caelum: Did I make that mistake? I didn't notice- thanks for pointing that out.**

 **monkey kix ass: glad you're enjoying it, thank you, you'll have to wait and see for what his presence will do- I have big plans**

 **bloodshark: yeah I notice that in a few 'sidekick' characters- Ron in the first few books (barring the chess trap) couldn't seem to do anything without Mione or Harry- so I wanted Will to be able to be able to stand alone as a character, if I need to.**

 **A guest: he thinks Stark is the most honest, least backstabbing-but he doesn't think he'll last, or be very good at the game.**

 **wolfsrun: you make some good points that will be addressed in the next few chapters. The school thing, I will say that I meant to mention that the 'punishment' that was specifically mentioned took place in summer.**

 **Kaioo: There is water available to drink in GoT. Spoiler for S5: Arya carries a skin with her and the Hound (almost dead) says 'fuck water'**

 **Respite88: Which makes the winnings even more than I thought they were :)**

 **coldblue: 1) It will not be his sigil, as shown above, but the hallows will be significant 2) hint in this chapter 3) Next chapter for to answer that question 4) I have an idea for his mother that book readers who know their theories will pick up on- good suggestions. Some I won't be able to incorporate but I did get some idea's from them, so thanks!**

 **UmbraVenator: I see where you're coming from, but I was thinking more his power/influence. He had more than Draco would (Crown Prince, you know)**

 **Aragorn Potter: his death will come up shortly, a conversation with Will next chapter may shed some light on it.**

 **epsi10n: I'm not even bothered enough to try and hide TommenxWill. Yes it will happen, a few seasons in (3/4)**

 **Lord Light Cybergate: I think your question may have been answered in this chapter.**

 **Thank you to everyone else who reviewed, glad you're enjoying it.**

 **By the way, how many of you liked Jory and wished he'd lasted longer. I personally really enjoyed his character, show and book.**

 **That's it for now, cya next time! Yozza Out!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm extremely sorry for the astoundingly long wait for this chapter. I had AS exams a few weeks ago, and then season 6 was aired and I decided to wait until after ep10 to continue this story so I knew what parts from the show I could keep and alter to fit my needs and what parts I'd need to completely remove. Basically, just to help me set up events later on and allow me to introduce some foreshadowing.**

 **Reviews will be answered at the end of the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.**

* * *

Chapter 4  


 **HARRY**

The matches had continued throughout the day, before Robert eventually called a halt to the joust's for the day, the last few tilts being set to take place the following day. Ser Gregor would face Ser Loras, whilst Harry's own father had been drawn to compete against the Hound, who (due to his duties as Joffrey's dog) stood vigil in the royal stand until it was his turn to ride. The winner's would ride against each other and the winner of that would face the winner of Harry's match. It was untrue to say he was not nervous. He would be competing against Ser Gerold Dayne, a young minor Lord from Dorne who called himself Darkstar after being passed over for the position of The Sword of the Morning. Dayne had half a dozen years more experience than Harry himself, and had proven himself to be a formidable foe over the course of his tilts. Even if Harry was able to defeat him, he would then have to enter the lists against one of the four top riders of the Tourney.

Frankly, it was by luck that Harry had made it this far. He hadn't faced easy matches, as he had won tilts against Jason Mallister, and later Preston Greenfield. However, had the draw pitted him against an opponent like one of the Clegane's, Loras Tyrell or his own father then Harry doubted he would still be in the competition. Gregor was always a force to be reckoned with, as was his brother the Hound. Both had breezed through their opponents easily, sending men flying. Lord Vance had been injured when his leg got stuck in his horse's stirrups after being defeated by the Hound. The sole remaining Kingsguard knight had done quite well for himself too.

But the real prodigy of the event had been Loras Tyrell. Despite the images dreamed up and impressions given by the title 'Knight of the Flowers' and his silvery, ornamental armour gave, the young knight had obliterated any rider sent his way, including Meryn Trant, Mandon Moore, Boros Blount and Robar Royce, the two Valemen in that lineup being no easy targets themselves. He pranced around handing out white roses to various girls in the crowd (overkill on the cover up of his taste's, in Harry's personal opinion) before each tilt, but once he was riding he was definitely not a man you'd want to face. The people even called him the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms, though Harry had heard rumors that his older brother Garlan was even better, fighting against multiple opponents in training.

Regardless, Harry dismissed all thoughts of every other person from his head as he climbed onto his horse, for what could very well be his last tilt of the competition. He could see Darkstar across the field from him as he strapped his shield to his arm and accepted his lance from Ty. The dark haired man sent a vicious smirk at him before he pulled on his helmet. Harry couldn't make out many details about the man at this distance but he knew that his eyes would be purple in one shade or another. The Dayne's were one of only three house's to share such a trait, the others being the Velaryon's of Driftmark and the Targaryen's themselves.

Harry donned his own helm, before moving his horse into the starting position. He could see his failure already, his dreams of being a knight anytime soon going up in smoke.

But it wasn't all bad. Robert had kept his word on the other side of his bargain the night before, during the feast, when he stood before the assembled lords, ladies and knights to announce that after hearing request's from Tywin Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Barristan Selmy and Renly Baratheon, he had agreed to grant legitimization to Harold Hill of house Lannister, granted him full rights to use the name and naming him as the heir to Casterly Rock, just as his grandfather had wanted.

"From this day, until his last," Robert had boomed, surprisingly formal "Let it be known that Harold Hill is henceforth known as Harold Lannister, and that the privileges and titles that he may inherit with that name are hereby rightfully his, as signed by Robert of the House Baratheon, titles, titles, titles and witnessed by Eddard Stark, titles, titles,"

After that, Robert had, of course gone right back to his blunt and brusque attitude of being harsh with the truth, groping women, making jokes at other peoples expense and drinking far to much, leading to a loud argument with the queen about whether or not he would compete in the melee after the jousts were done with. Harry was rather surprised to hear that his aunt was telling Robert not to, her knowing full well that telling Robert not to do something just encouraged him to do it even more. Harry had narrowed his eyes at her 'concerned' expression in distrust, vowing to keep an eye on the King if he did decide to get involved with the chaos that was a melee.

Regardless of the King and Queen, Harry couldn't keep himself from breaking his permanently controlled mask to let a wide grin out that he couldn't keep off his face no matter how hard he tried. The congratulations from Tommen, Myrcella, Will and the Stark family (as well as other, less sincere, guests) had warmed his heart. The moment his father placed a proud hand on his should and gave him and equally proud smile was the best moment in his entire life. It was the among the best in either of his lives; competed with only by his first successful casting of the patronus charm, Sirius asking Harry if he's live with him and being named Godfather to Teddy Lupin.

He had spoken to Renly at that feast, thanking him for putting in a good word with Robert for his legitimization. Renly had brushed off his thanks, stating that at most it was a repayment for the help Harry had given him with the Gold Cloaks. Already, he'd been told, the City Watch was operating more efficiently now that they had Harry's men supervising and his money boosting their usual wages. Renly had quickly glossed over the other 'boring' stuff and gotten onto what he deemed to be more interesting topics. Namely the money Harry had won him. Not in a single match had be bet against Harry, which earned him quite a lot on a fair few tilts as no one bet on the as yet unknighted boy over a Kingsguard member or Lord Jason, for example. Excitedly, the Lord of Storms End had introduced him to Ser Loras, who seemed to be a decent person, though Harry could detect something a little menacing hidden away within him.

When the two had gotten distracted by each other (and they thought they kept their relationship a secret), Harry had quietly slipped away, ending up next to Will, as per usual, both leaning against a wall, absently assessing the crowd. It was always clear to Harry that his friendship with Will was unlike the one he'd once shared with Ron. Harry had thought he and Ron had become true friends during that first ride to Hogwarts, but really, the redhead had just seen a ticket to fame. He was a jealous prat who Harry hoped to all the gods had gotten what he deserved. The boy had abandoned him during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco (though not to his face) and again after the goblet had spat out his name (this time to his face), and both times had come crawling back afterwards. When Harry withdrew from the world after Sirius' death (and gods, that still hurt to think about even now), Ron had accused him of going dark. They hadn't said a single word to each other since then, not until Harry's last day as a Potter.

Will had interrupted his musings "See something you like?" he teased, a grin splitting his face.

Confused, Harry had frowned in reply "What are you talking about?"

The hunter had rolled his eyes "Sansa Stark. You've been staring at her for the past few minutes,"

Harry cursed as he realized that his thoughts about Ron had led his eyes to seek out the closest resemblance to a Weasley in the room. He nearly snarled in reply to Will's first question when he found out what had been implied "No," he said sharply, his harsh tone making Will's eyes widen in surprise "She looks like someone I used to know. Someone who helped her brother put a knife in my spine,"

 _~~Flashback~~_

 _It was raining. Not truly raining, but a light drizzle was falling, dampening Harry's hair as he walked back up towards Hogwarts, it's turrets rising high into the early morning sky. A faint mist had settled over the grounds at some point during the night, as the battle had raged._

 _The battle: if there was one thing Harry wished he could change, it was how many had died fighting because he hadn't been quick enough. Fred, Charlie, Percy, Remus, Tonks, the Patil twins, Colin Creevey, Neville, Professor McGonagall, Hestia Jones, Sturgis Podmore. And that was just that one battle. There had been others of course. Daedalus Diggle had died protecting the Dursley family, who had died anyway (no great loss, but Harry regretted that Diggle had died for nothing). Moody and Kingsley, Victor, Augusta Longbottom and Emmaline Vance._

 _And of course Hermione. Hermione who'd stood by him through everything, Hermione who he trusted with things no one else knew; dead at Bellatrix's hands. That mad woman had taken everything from him, first his godfather and then his sister. He enjoyed showing her his new found talent for the cruciatus before nearly severing her head with a Sectumsempra. 'Thank you, you treacherous dick,' he'd thought 'for designing that spell'._

 _But now, the war was over. They'd won, though the cost made him wonder if it was even worth it. It had taken him months to track down all of the bastard horcrux's. He'd dealt with the Diary in second year, and the Ring was destroyed by Dumbledore. The Locket had taken some planning, but capturing Wormtail was easier than Harry had expected. The rat had just been sitting there in a rebuilt Godric's Hollow house. Harry's house. That had brought up a tidal wave of rage against Pettigrew, and what little remaining sympathy Harry had once had for him was washed away. For daring to claim James and Lily's house as his reward, every punch the man felt produced that much more pleasure in Harry._

 _Peter's hair had been just what he needed to get in, leave a portkey on Umbridge's desk that brought her right to Grimmauld Place, and get back out again. Her death had been quick. He had a job to do and she didn't have any useful information anyway. The one in Gringotts was the easiest to get into. He had to fight in single combat against the manager of the Lestrange vault to gain access. Any non magical weapons (enchantments allowed) was allowed. Harry chose a gun._

 _The Diadem had been annoying as hell, given that it was hidden in a room of hidden things. He'd gotten it though._

 _During the battle, Voldemort had called a ceasefire half way through and summoned Harry to the forbidden forest 'to die'. He'd taken his time. He'd broke the stone out of the snitch, and donned the cloak of Ignotus Peverall, a fact he'd only recently been able to confirm with the Potter Genealogy Book; hidden in Godric's Hollow in a concrete box beneath the ground, under a flowerbed where roses, lily's and petunias had once grown; showing the marriage of Ignotus' great granddaughter (last of his line) marrying Fredrick Potter, and the subsequent family, eventually resulting in James Potter and his marriage to Lily Evans and their son Harry._

 _He set up a series of runes around the clearing that the Death Eaters had gathered in, and used a quick disarming charm to retrieve his true wand from the snake faced bastard that dared to try and use it. He'd tossed the three Horcrux's he'd gathered into the center of the clearing where the landed next to Nagini, the last one. The Runes, activated immediately with the Elder Wand, cut off all magic within its area of effect. All magic. Including Horcrux's. Without the magic tying his soul into the various anchor's, the spirit of Tom Marvolo Riddle was ejected from every Horcrux and without magic to tie him to the land of the living, they simply vanished into dust. A single hand grenade would have done the rest. Harry knew that several of them; acquired through Remus' shadier connections; was overkill, but he wanted to make sure that there was nothing left of any of them.  
_

 _He'd passed out shortly after. Activating the runes had taken a lot out of him._

 _And so here he was. Making his way back up to the castle to see what could be done to repair the damage. As he walked, he smelt smoke on the air, the only evidence he yet had of the fires that had burned brightly the night before. He could imagine it in his mind. The stone walls of the ancient castle that was his home charred black, smeared with red. Or maybe not. The Death Eaters heavily relied on the killing curse and his own side was too good and light and innocent to use anything lethal. Maybe there wouldn't be any red. But then he remembered the giants, and the acromantula's. They didn't use quick, clean instant death curses. They bit and tore and ripped, and pounded and mulched and crushed._

 _Maybe there would be red after all._

 _The grass here was dead, only just starting to grow back after the winter, now trampled into the ground which was more mud than anything else at the moment. Dead grass. It seemed appropriate, given the amount of death that had happened in what was once such a happy place. Harry noticed Hagrid's burnt hut out the corner of his eye. He scowled bitterly even as tears welled up in his eyes. He hadn't known his first friend was there until after he'd pulled the pins and tossed the grenades. Even as he'd done it, he'd noticed the beetle eyes, half hidden behind a crowd of panicking death eaters. It was made all the worse by the acknowledgment in the kind eyes. Hagrid had known what those round, muggle devices would do. And he'd smiled._

 _Harry's heart clenched painfully._

 _"Harry!" The shout shook him out of his painful thoughts and he smiled as he saw a girl, only a year younger than himself dressed in red trimmed Hogwarts robes running towards him, her fiery red hair being blown out behind her as she made her way to his location. Harry stopped, entirely too tired to continue his journey back just now, and instead stood his ground and braced himself for his ex girlfriend to missile into his arms. She didn't disappoint. He clutched her tightly to him, the face of every member of her family that he had led to his death flashing before him in his mind. But at least she was here. She was real, something he could cling onto._

 _"What happened Harry?" she asked into his neck. She was the same height as him, given that he was easily the smallest boy in his year, and not far off the same position among the sixth year boys, with only Colin shorter than him. 'Oh, God, Colin'. While the boy had been annoying in his first year, he'd mellowed in his excitement and become a loyal, brave and productive member of Dumbledore's army. He'd helped fight of the Death Eaters the year before, on the night of Dumbledore's death, even if he wasn't supposed to._

 _He muttered back "They're dead. They're all dead," It was strange. He'd been preparing himself for this since the end of fifth year. He thought he'd shut off his conscience enough that he could do it without breaking down. He'd killed Bellatrix. He'd killed Amycus Carrow and Wormtail and several other death eaters over the last seven months, ever since departing the Weasley home during Bill and Fleur's wedding the August just gone. He guessed killing in a battlefield or when in a rage-filled rampage is the same as plotting out how to kill dozens of people. Or maybe it was guilt that so many on his own side had died. Or perhaps the fact that he had killed Hagrid, too. The latter two seemed most likely._

 _He expected; and needed; comfort and reassurance from Ginny. Instead, she simply said "Good," and stepped away. A flash of hurt crossed his face at that moment, he knew. But it was gone within half a second, when Ginny called out her brothers name "RON!"_

 _In the next moment, all Harry knew was a blinded rush of pain in his back. Once, twice, and then a third time, the last right through his spine. He crumpled to the ground, the mud seeping through his tattered and dirty clothing. It got in his hair matting it more than its perpetually messy state had gone anyway. His glasses fell from his face and cracked when he landed on top of them. Breathing heavily, he tired to make sense of what had just happened to him. Sharp pains shot up his back and he could feel a warm, sticky liquid soaking through his shirt. He planted his hands against the ground as best as he could and tried to push himself up, so that he could see._

 _He wished he didn't._

 _There was Ginny, no longer smiling. No. That wasn't right. She was smiling, but it wasn't a kind, innocent smile like the ones she used to give him. It was a cold, devious smirk that sent chills up his spine and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. When he fell, she'd snatched both his holly wand and the elder wand from his grasp. Standing next to her was another red head. He was tall and lanky, and Harry absently noticed that he'd just removed a disillusionment charm; he didn't know Ron knew how to cast that spell. The boy had a long bladed, blood coated knife held loosely in his hands as he gazed maliciously down at the injured boy._

 _Oh._

 _"I have to thank you, Harry," Ginny's voice was stone cold "I mean, it was never fair. It wasn't fair that you got to have all that money for yourself and my parents had nothing between nine of us,"_

 _"Not to mention the fame. Everybody knew you, you could have done anything, but you wasted it! You wasted the money too, just letting it sit there!" Ron interrupted harshly._

 _"But we won't make that mistake," Ginny laughed "Don't worry, Harry. That money won't be going to waste once I get my hands on it,"_

 _Harry frowned in confusion and tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat and pain laced through his body. He tried and again and managed a weak croak "Wh...why would...why would you get the money?" He wanted to rage. He wanted to shout at them that they had each had six siblings and two loving parents and a home and food and a good life. That they were being stupid. But he couldn't. He could already feel his strength failing him. So he asked the most important question, even if he didn't care much about the gold itself._

 _"Oh Harry dear, thats simple. You shouldn't waste your last few seconds on a question like that," Ginny smiled sweetly. It was sickening._

 _"Without a will, the assets of a pureblood heir pass to his closest magical kin. And thanks to you, that makes Ginny the..." he trailed off uncertainly, unsure of the word to finish his sentence with._

 _"Proxy," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes and placing a hand on her stomach "You won't remember that night, don't bother trying; I obliviated you after. A simple lust potion and a fertility one, and voila: a baby Potter,"_

 _He knew he shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't, that he should save his strength and try to fight of the numbing cold he felt creeping in at the edges; the darkness at the corners of his eyes. But he couldn't resist. He laughed. Despite the pain, despite the blood that fell from his mouth, staining the ground red._

 _"You really think," he gasped, still chuckling in a weak voice, even as he struggled to stay propped up "that I would walk into battle, without writing a will?" He had a will. He'd had one since July, that had been changed with the birth of Teddy Lupin. The Black vault was to be split up between the members of the Lupin family. Teddy's tuition fee for Hogwarts was paid for well in advance. The young boy would be getting it all know, he supposed. The Potter vault, half the size of the Black Vault left to him by Sirius, contained 60,000 galleons, with Luna receiving one tenth of it. Neville was set to receive the same, but that would now pass into a donation for Hogwarts. The same for Hermione's eighteen thousand. The other half of the vault would be split up between the surviving members of the Weasley family. Ginny and Ron would not be getting as much as they had hoped._

 _As Ginny turned pasty white and Ron charged forward in a blisteringly hot rage and tore the knife across Harry's throat, the young savior could only be glad that his last words had been to spite the pair of traitors that just murdered him._

 _~~Flashback End~~_

Harry had snapped out of his flashback within a flashback in time to hear the horn blow and signal the beginning of the first tilt. Dayne lowered both his visor and his lance and urged his horse forward, the massive pale beast steadily picking up speed. Harry's own blood red stallion did the same as it's rider; donned in black plate armour; held his lance steady. The distance between the two riders was closing rapidly. Dayne's dark purple armour; highlighted with sliver and black star emblazoned on his breastplate; seemed to be steel covered by painted bronze scales that reflected the sunlight right into Harry's eyes as the gap closed to less than fifteen feet. As the reflected light blinded Harry, he flinched and scrunched his eyes closed in reflex. His lance veered of course, only by an inch, but it was enough. The last three feet were stormed over in half a second, Harry's own lance sliding off the edge of Dayne's shield while the Dornishman's struck true. Unable to see, Harry had instinctively brought his shield up a little, to better cover the area Dayne's lance had been aimed at. Gerold changed his lance's course at the last second, the tip sliding under his shield; now raised half an inch too high; and slamming into the left side of his stomach.

Harry grunted but the blow was not struck in a place that would knock his balance very well. It seemed Dayne had chosen his target based on how much pain he could cause.

Dayne's lance had shattered on impact and he violently wrenched his replacement from his squire. Harry's was still intact, and he mentally prepared himself for the second attempt. He didn't notice an anxious Tommen biting his lip and sitting on the edge of his seat. He didn't see Myrcella nervously wringing her hands together. Jaime had tensed and looked ready to tear Dayne to pieces, but Harry didn't see. He didn't see the worry and concern that swam Will's eyes, or Ty wide fearful eyes.

Despite Harry's best efforts, the same result was found at the end of the second tilt. Dayne's lance had found its mark at the exact same spot, and Harry; once again, forced to close his eyes, despite his best efforts; found himself suffering just trying to sit up straight. He was slouched over the neck of his mount, trying to breathe properly. Will and Ty ran over to him to help him from his saddle but he ignored them. He had to win. He needed this. He rode out again. As the distance yet again closed in seconds, Harry noticed Dayne shift his body ever so slightly, _directing_ the light into Harry's eyes. _THAT CHEATING BASTARD,_ Harry roared mentally. He snarled. If Dayne wasn't going to play fair, then Harry wouldn't either. He closed his eyes. He knew he'd have to take the hit. He couldn't reasonably explain how he could win with his eyes closed. But that didn't mean he couldn't take Dayne down too.

As the two horses crossed the last few feet before their riders were in range of each other, Harry used what little magic he had and felt the air around him, using it to determine where everything was. He made sure that as Dayne crashed his third lance into that same, fucking, spot; the tip of Harry's own hit the bastard dead center, right over his heart. Harry opened his eyes in time to see Dayne's surprised, wide eyes as he fell backwards from his horse, just as Harry tumbled to the ground himself. The impact knocked the wind out of him and he curled around himself slightly, groaning as the third hit made itself known in the form of sharp stabbing pains centered around his kidney.

Through the haze of pain, he barely registered being helped to his feet and limping back to his tent with the aid of Eryck and Lyman. What he did recognize was King Robert determining who had won the round. Dayne was at his own pavilion, looking arrogant as hell with the biggest cocky grin that Harry had ever seen. That expression dropped,and was replaced by anger and embarrassment when the King declared Harry the winner, on account of Dayne's cheating. Harry, it turned out, had not been the only one to notice Ser Gerold's lack of fair play.

The rest of the day passed with the same amount of excitement. Harry's father had been knocked off his horse by the Hound with comparative ease, the knight's golden lion shaped helm being bent out of shape and getting stuck on Jaime's head, to the laughter of the viewers. Harry himself found some amusement in that. He was now sitting in the stands beside Renly, having thrown his last match before even finding out who it was against. Truthfully, he would have continued despite his injury delivered by the steel points Dayne had been found to be using. However his father had all but dragged him forced him into the stands, with the promise that he could compete in the melee if Robert didn't knight him for getting as far as he did.

Ned Stark was sitting two rows in front, next to his daughter, Sansa's friend Poole and their Septa. Littlefinger was sitting behind Sansa.

The second to last match was Loras Tyrell against The Mountain. Harry would be lying if he said it was a match he wasn't interested in. He could see Stark asking his daughter a question, but was too far away to hear over the roar of the crowds at the sight of the two men. What he did see was Loras present a red rose to Sansa, before giving Renly a significant look. As the riders turned to their opposite ends, the newly named Lannister noticed Ser Gregor's stallion acting out, trying to get at Loras' mare. Then it clicked.

He turned to Renly "Is Ser Loras riding an in heat mare?"

The small grin was his only answer.

"100 dragons on the Mountain," Littlefinger offered, leaning back to look at Renly in particular.

"I'll take that bet," Renly said, his voice filled with confidence.

"Now what will I buy with a hundred gold dragons," Littlefinger smirked. Sansa was clutching her fathers arm in the front row "A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? A girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"You could even buy a friend," Renly sniped, his voice friendly but his words mocking.

Gregor took his lance from his squire, but a second man was needed to hold the reins, as the beast threatened to charge after the mare before the trumpets had been blown. It pawed impatiently at the ground and Gregor was having trouble keeping it steady and under control. By contrast, Loras and his mount both looked perfectly relaxed. The horns sounded and they charged. Closer and closer and closer until CRACK. Loras lance smashed straight into Gregor shield and the man, unsteady on his uncontrollable horse fell sideways, dragging the massive animal down with him. The pair crashed through the barrier, smashing it to pieces. Renly surged to his feet laughing in glee. Looking across, Harry could see the Hound barely restraining a smile.

"Such a shame, Littlefinger," Harry mocked, speaking slowly and drawling a little in mockery.

Renly continued the jest, and dragged it out "It would have been so nice for you to have a friend,"

His face was tight in obvious annoyance, but when he turned back to them from glancing around the stands, amusement was written all over his face. Littlefinger turned back to them and leaned in closer "And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend," and with that he gestured to Loras before turning around to speak once again to Sansa. Harry really would have to warn Stark not to put so much faith in Littlefinger. Renly sank back into his seat in clear discomfort. Harry was so lost in his musings that he didn't hear Gregor shouting for his sword over the cries and cheer's of the crowd. What he did notice was the man cleaving his horse's head off in just one swing of his massive, two handed greatsword that the monster of a man swung around one handed, as though it was nothing.

The horse collapsed to the ground with a pain filled moan. The people watching gasped. Loras spun around on his horse just in time to raise his shield to protect him from serious maiming. It didn't stop the man from being knocked flying out of his saddle and landing rather awkwardly. Renly slowly rose to his feet, a look of horror and shock marring his features. Harry lurched for his sword, lying just a few feet away but the sudden movement forced him to one knee with a grunt of pain. Maybe he should be glad he wasn't facing either the Hound or Ser Loras. Gregor brought his sword down against Loras, but the Tyrell knight managed to raise his shield in time again.

He might not have been so lucky a third time, if Sandor Clegane hadn't interfered.

"Leave him be Gregor," the Hound growled and intercepted the third attack. Their blades locked, both putting their full strength into forcing the other back. Sandor managed to force Gregor's blade of to the side, and both brothers took a step back to prepare themselves. Loras scrambled backwards as fast as he could. Gregor growled like the dog on his banner and charged forward, bringing his sword around in an overhead swing that Sandor deflected. Sandor made a brief strike only to be met by Gregor's own steel, the taller man bringing his sword in an arc around his head and aiming the strike for his younger brothers legs, an move which was blocked by the Hounds slightly shorter sword. Sandor brought his sword down in a simple downwards swing aimed at Gregor's head. That was also met with an unmovable defense. Gregor forced his sword to slide along Sandor's until he could push it off to he side and then made a wild uncoordinated swing that forced the Hound to jump backwards to avoid, but the burnt man was straight back up close immediately.

It was at that point that Robert stood "STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" he boomed. Harry shook himself out of his entrancement and glanced at the royal box. Joffrey was on his feet, an entertained smile on his face. Myrcella shaking and Tommen was staring, unable to tear his eyes away. Ser Barristan looked uncomfortable as though he wished he was able to act in Loras' defense himself.

Sandor instantly dropped to one knee, his sword point implanted into the ground and both hands folded over the pommel. Kneeling had nearly cost the Hound his life, but Gregor's sword passed harmlessly over the top of Sandor's head. He steadied himself, breathing deeply, before throwing his sword onto the ground and storming away. The Kingsguard, to their credit, didn't waver when he approached, but hastily stood aside at Robert's order to "Let him go!"

Loras made his way to the Hound's side "I owe you my life, ser," he said gratefully.

"I'm no ser," the Hound said disdainfully, but Loras grabbed his hand and raised it in the air regardless. Harry had to admit to being surprised at that. A knight of Loras' renown, throwing a possible tourney win? Maybe he was a better person than Harry had thought. Or maybe he just valued his life more than a win, which was entirely possible. Besides, Harry thought, this _chivalrous_ act will make him look even better anyway. Regardless of why he had done it, the Knight of the Flowers had just announced Sandor Clegane the winner of the Tourney, to thunderous applause.

They all thought the day would continue onto the melee straight away. They were proven wrong.

"Harry Lannister!" Robert called "Get out onto these grounds and kneel before I change my mind,"

Wide eyed, Harry did as he asked. He glanced towards his cousins out the corner of his eyes and saw them beaming at him. Will's respectful nod was seen from the other side of the field. Robert drew his sword as he knelt and tapped it on his right shoulder.

"Harold of the House of Lannister, son of Ser Jaime Lannister, in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to defend all women..." with every charge, Robert shifted his sword to tap on the next shoulder and then back to the first. The vow continued, citing the Smith, Crone and Stranger (The god Harry himself worshipped) before ending with "Do you swear to uphold these vows from this day, until your last day,"

"I do, your grace," Harry somehow managed to say.

"Then rise, Ser Harold Lannister," Robert ordered. He did so, and when he was stood Robert clapped him on the back and grunted a compliment "You rode well, lad,"

The rest of the day was spent watching the remaining events. The melee was exciting and Harry wished he could be there. His injury prevented it, though the Maester said it would heal within a week or two. By the end of the day, only Thoros of Myr with his flaming sword remained standing. As for the archery: William had tied with a red haired man from the Dornish Marches by the name of Anguy. They had both defeated Jalabhar Xho and Balon Swann at a hundred yards when all the other competitors had been defeated at seventy. By the time the pair had gotten up to a hundred and thirty yards, Robert was bored and called the match a draw. Harry felt slightly guilty for costing Anguy five thousand dragons, given that Will would not have competed if Harry hadn't strong armed him into doing so. Regardless, Will deserved the recognition, though it seemed he'd met his match in Anguy from the Marches. Any further distance and Will might not have been able to keep up.

 **The Small Council Meeting**

"The whore is pregnant," Robert told him bluntly as a way of kicking off the Small Council Meeting.

Ned's days following the tourney had been hectic. First of was the information Varys had given him regarding Jon Arryn and the danger the King's life was in if Ned couldn't save him. The Spider had visited him after confirming his trustworthiness to inform him that his old mentor and father figure, Jon, had been killed with a poison called the Tears of Lys because he "started asking the wrong questions". That hadn't even been the worst of it. Not a day later, Jory had escorted Arya to his solar, saying she'd come in to the Red Keep via on of the two gates that led into the city, filthy and ragged. She'd told him a rather confusing tale about chasing cats into a hidden room full of dragon skulls, and overhearing a two men talk about the death of Jon, a possible attempt on his own life and something about Lions and Stags.

The worst part was when Jory had interrupted and shown a recruiter from the Night's Watch, Yoren, in. He'd learned his brother Ben was late in getting back to the Wall from a ranging. Worse still, Cat had recklessly abducted the imp.

And now this.

"You're speaking of murdering a child," Ned frowned.

Robert sat in one of two high backed chairs on the far side of the table, the second and third unoccupied to his immediate left and right; Ned's own seat, and Ser Barristan's. On the far side of the left seat was Littlefinger. Varys was on Robert's right hand side, sitting with only Ser Barristan's seat between them. Pycelle was sat opposite Varys, and Renly sat opposite the Master of Coin. Harry was seated in between Renly and the old Grand Maester, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation. It gave Ned hope that he might have one ally in the room, even if it wasn't who he would have chosen or wished for. The other four looked far too relaxed and not unhappy with the topic for Ned's liking. Ned himself was standing just behind Harry's chair.

"I warned you this would happen, I warned you; back in the North, I warned you and you didn't care to listen. Well, hear it now" he paused and sat up straighter "I want them dead, mother and child, both. And that fool, Viserys, as well, is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead!"

"You'll dishonor yourself forever if you do this," Ned spoke calmly, keeping his voice level.

"Honor?" Robert roared, seeming shocked "I've got seven kingdoms to rule! One King, seven kingdoms! Do you think it's honor that keeps them in line? Do you think it's honor thats keeping the peace? It's fear! Fear and Blood!"

"Then we're no better than the Mad King," Ned shot back, reminded of how similar Roberts words were to the motto of the family they had overthrown. Harry flinched at that, and shrunk into his seat slightly.

Robert blustered at that "Careful, Ned, careful now!

"You want to assassinate a girl, because the spider heard a rumor?"

The Spider leaned forward at that, looking almost insulted "No rumor, my Lord, the Princess is with child,"

"Based on whose information?" Ned asked

"Ser Jorah Mormont. He is serving as adviser to the Targaryen's

"You bring us the whispers of a traitor, half a world away and call it fact," Ned sneered. Varys sat back in his seat and definitely did look offended and somewhat disappointed in that moment.

"Ser Jorah Mormont is a slaver, not a traitor," Littlefinger piped up "Small difference to an honorable man, I know,"

"He broke the law, betrayed his family and fled our land. We commit murder on the word of this man?"

"And what if he's right? What if she has a son?" the King questioned angrily "A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki horde. What then?"

"The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I will fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses ti run on water," he declared.

Robert seemed surprised at what he'd said "Do nothing? That's your wise advice? Do nothing until our enemies are on our shores?" he was roaring by this point, and gesturing around wildly. Ned knew he was past the point of wisdom and knew that nothing would convince Robert when he was in this state, but he kept trying anyway. He would not let an innocent girl and her child die for the word of a man like Jorah Mormont.

Robert turned to the others "You're my council; council. Speak sense to this honorable fool!"

One by one, they each gave their piece. Varys went first, speaking slowly and slightly patronizingly "I, understand, your misgivings, my Lord. Truly I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm," Pycelle was nodding his head in agreement "Should the gods grant Daenerys a son; the realm will bleed."

Pycelle stuttered out the next argument "I bear this girl no ill will, but if the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many villages will burn? Is it not wiser; kinder even, that she should die now, so that tens of thousands might live?"

"We should have had the Targaryen's killed years ago," at least Renly's was short and simple, straight to his point.

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly girl, what do you do?" Baelish asked. Ned nearly rolled his eyes at the innuendo. Harry didn't resist the urge, Ned noticed "Close your eyes and get it over with," Varys closed his eyes and sighed heavily "Cut her throat, be done with it,"

All was quiet for a moment. Then Harry spoke "I stand with Lord Stark on this matter. Killing the girl will just enrage the Khal. Leave them be, he has no interest in the seven kingdoms,"

Ned inclined his head in thanks, before stalking forward and leaning on the table to get into Roberts face "I followed you into war, twice. Without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with, didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child,"

For a moment he thought he'd done it, but then "She dies,"

"I will have no part in it,"

"Nor I," declared Harry, who Robert made to yell at but flinched back at the last second and restrained himself. Tywin Lannister's influence, Ned knew.

Instead, Robert turned back to Ned "You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command or I'll find a Hand that will,"

Ned thought it over for a second before coming to a decision. He could do the easy thing, and just, as Baelish said get on with it or he could do the right thing. There wasn't any contest. He pulled the pin off and tossed it onto the table in front of Robert "And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man,"

Robert stood angrily, tears welling in his eyes "Out. Out, damn you, out! I'm done with you," Ned turned and began walking away, never looking back once, never hesitating like he suspected Robert was waiting for him to "Go! Run back to Winterfell! I'll have your head on a spike!"

Even as Ned walked away through the throne room, he could hear Robert shouting curses after him.

 **Harry**

The small council meeting had to have been one of the most tense situations Harry had been in since his rebirth, which was saying a lot. He'd much rather face a fully armoured knight riding at him with a tourney lance than get caught in the middle of a spat between the King and Lord Stark. After the former Hand of the King had left, the King had ranted for the next hour or so about cowards and treason, before giving the order for the death of Danaerys Targaryen. At Harry's suggestion of slipping the girl moon-tea instead of poison; both removing a threat and discrediting the girl in her Khal's eyes, though the idea left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth; the King had shot him a glare and dismissed him from the meeting. Harry knew that the man wished he could give Harry the same ultimatum he'd given Stark, but the Lannister patriarch had too much influence to risk that. If the Old Lions grandson was forced out of the council, Robert would be in hot water and he knew it.

So now Harry stood in his rooms, changing out of his smart clothes into a fresh set of more casual ones, that offered slightly better protection too. It was as he was pulling his shirt on that he caught sight of the now familiar burn scar on his collar. A straight line, through a circle, both surrounded by a triangle. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows; three legendary items gifted to the Peverall brothers when they cheated death. Harry had originally thought that the brothers had made the items, and the story had spread from their, the reference to the Horseman being due to the connotations of death the items each carried. He'd given no stock to the whole Master of Death part of the story, assuming it to mean that with all three hallows their user would be too powerful to be killed by any human means. Turns out it was a little more literal than that. It didn't give the user a mastery of death nor prevent them from dying; rather, they made sure the soul would never permanently die. It was a knowledge that seemed ingrained into his mind. Harry figured that was why he had been reborn, when no one else seemed to.

The one time Will had seen the scar, Harry had lied and told him he'd had it as long as he could remember. In reality, the three different parts that made up the symbol had appeared one at a time, one every two years from the time he was twelve, when the first part (the wand) had appeared. he had been twelve years old at the time, and had thus far discovered no sign of magic in his new world. Through the tomes at Casterly Rock (that he'd been reading at the age most children read stories at) about the Children of the Forest and the Dragons, he knew that their must have been magic, and had asked Maester Creylen about it. The middle aged man had replied that although many (including he himself) believed that magic once existed, there was no evidence of its existence any more. Creylen's personal opinion was that the death of the last dragon (literal dragon, not Rhaegar Targaryen) had symbolized the death of magic in the world.

Ever since that day when he was eight, Harry had gradually given up on his pursuit of magic. He had his Occlumency shields, but that was a mental discipline. While predominantly a magical ability, magic was not needed to create an occlumency barrier. Magic was an aid, but Harry had discovered in his sixth year that to him it was a detterent, the very reason why his lessons with Snape were such a failure. He couldn't imagine that changing, so his barriers must be muggle in nature. He hadn't tried with potions, as he had always been abysmal at the subject, and most vital ingredients didn't exist in Westeros. He had given up.

But then he found the Elder Wand.

He'd been so excited at the time, thinking he'd be able to cast spells again. So his disappointment at not even being able to cast a single spell was incredible. No matter what he tried to cast, he failed to ever produce more than a brief glow of coloured light. What he had discovered, was that while magic was unavailable to him, the properties of the wand were inherently magic and had an effect, neither intrinsically positive or negative. If, for example, he put it in a fire, that fire would burn hotter and brighter and not go out easily but in return was much harder to control. That experience had given him an idea.

He'd had the Elder Wand crafted into the grip of his sword. And the effect was immediate, though for some reason was only noticed by Harry himself; probably the wand protecting its Master. His blade was lighter than most, presumably much like Valyrian Steel, though he'd never had the pleasure of wielding the famed material. He'd noticed that it could keep its edge longer than most other swords he'd seen even without proper care, that he never neglected to give regardless. The steel seemed sharper, too, as Harry had accidentally struck the castle wall while in training, when his cornered opponent; Red Walder (Tywin's uncle) dodged at the last second but very little damage was done to the steel as opposed to the deep gauge in the castle wall.

The poor blacksmith had been worked tirelessly after that, though he never managed to perfect his work so well ever again. Harry did feel bad about bringing that down upon the man.

The cloak had been the next to appear, oddly enough, and the triangle burning into his skin had confirmed to him exactly what it was that had been gifted to him. It was innaccurate to call the cloak an Invisibility Cloak anymore, for that was not was it was. It looked normal enough, at first glance. Lord Westerling had found a sheet of the softest material he'd ever felt in a market sale his daughter Jeyne had visited one day, and the pair had decided that it would make a fine new cloak for their Lord's grandson, who was close friends with the heir of the Crag, Ser Raynald. Jeyne and her septa and a hired seamstress worked for three days, dying it crimson red, with a pair of argent lions, one red and the other white, standing back to back. Harry had later found out that while the cloak did not make him invisible, it did allow him to simply go unnoticed by anyone else, unless he either drew attention to himself or someone was specifically looking for him.

The stone had also gone into his sword, when he found it sitting innocently on his bed one day after the small celebration on his sixteenth nameday. He'd taken it to Tobho Mott's shop to have it replace the plain pommel on his sword. He had yet to discover what 'bonuses' he'd gain from it.

At first, the properties of those items had been the only thing Harry had ever found relating to magic. But then, nine months previously, he'd dreamt of demons made of ice slaughtering villages, sparing none. When, in the middle of the night, he's shot awake and found all the candles in his room burning brightly and his mirror shattered, he'd been startled. He remembered being sure that he'd snuffed the candles out the night before. As soon as he thought that thought, the candles once again went out.

The next day he heard about a former Nights Watch Ranger claiming the title King Beyond the Wall, and the Wildling armies coming together again.

While he kept an eye on the situation in case he had to persuade his grandfather to aid the Starks if this Mance Rayder breached the Wall, he was not wholly concerned. The Starks had defeated Wildling Kings before and there had been no reason why they couldn't do so again. His own accidental magic interested him more. It was the first time in sixteen years that he had done any magic whatsoever. _Why now,_ he'd wondered. Since then he'd trained, unsure if the return of magic to the world heralded something good or bad. The trick in the tourney had been the first thing he'd learned how to consciously do, and his joust against Dayne was the fourth time he'd ever tried it. It was the first successful attempt. The other three had been in the yard, fighting against multiple opponents and trying to sense attacks aimed at his blind spots. They hadn't been so successful.

He finished pulling the shirt over his head, before pulling on a white sleeved, red doublet and fastening it up. Far less suited to formal events than his gold and red one, this doublet was slightly thicker and made of leather as opposed to whatever soft material his other was made up of. It wouldn't stop a direct thrust from a broadsword but it might save his life from a knife to the back a little better than his old, 'modern day' muggle clothes had. And a slice wouldn't cut through every layer.

Focusing on the unlit candle in front of him, he slowly waved his hand over it, watching as the wick slowly started to smolder, and then ignite in a small, orange flicker of flame. However, even that small flame was draining him. He could his control begin to fade, and he hurriedly stopped before the candle erupted into a flash fire that would engulf the Red Keep. Smiling, Harry staggered towards a nearby chair to rest for a moment, pleased with the progress he had been making. A few months ago; scratch that, he had _never_ been able to wandlessly light a candle. While his ability might be only be a cheap parlor trick at the minute, it would grow and others would develop. It was a work in progress but he had time.

Suddenly, his door was thrown open, making him even more relieved that he's stopped when he did as Ty came running into the room, a look of panic etched into his face.

"Ser!" the boy exclaimed, making Harry sit up straighter and listen attentively "You have to hurry. Lady Catelyn has abducted Lord Tyrion on the road; your father has gone to confront Lord Stark!"

"What!" Harry screamed. He could have cried. His favourite uncle kidnapped for...for what; Harry had no idea. And now his father was going to fight Stark. Oh he might not intend to, or on the other hand he might. It made no difference. Harry's father was too hotheaded not to choose violence over reason. Such an act of random violence was not good for Harry's plans. "Where are they?"

"In the city, my Lord, at Littlefinger's brothel's. The one just off the street of silk,"

Harry knew the one he was talking about. It was the establishment most well used by King Robert. But the question was why would the famously honorable Ned Stark visit a brothel.

 _Oh,_ Harry realized. When he had visited Tobho Mott he had met the man's young apprentice, Gendry, a boy about Harry's own age. Dark haired and blue eyed, the young blacksmith was the spitting image of Lord Renly, who was, many said, a copy of a younger Robert. It hadn't taken Harry long to put the pieces together and when he did, he immediately gave the offer of a place in his service should Gendry ever decide fighting would be a trade better suited for him. More than anyone else, Harry hated people who hurt children. It was the reason for his intense loathing of Lord Buckwell and his older sons. And Harry knew what would happen if Cersei ever discovered Gendry. The second Robert was gone, she would immediately hunt down and kill any black haired bastards in the city. Harry had seen what had happened to the twins girls at Lannisport, only 4 years old when Cersei's hired thugs found them.

So he'd put a watch on Gendry, some of Will's best contacts. Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon had visited the boy, and later Eddard Stark had done the same. It would be impossible for the three not to notice what Harry had. If Stark was investigating Robert's bastards, and he was now visiting a whorehouse that Robert was known to visit, then that most likely meant that another royal bastard had been born.

Regardless of the reasons for his being there, Harry had to stop the brewing fight, or it could spell disaster not just for the two families, but for Westeros as a whole. Harry shot past Ty, in the back of his mind taking note that the boy followed loyally. Shouting at Ser Errick, who'd been standing outside his door with one other man, to gather as many men as he could find and meet him at the gate.

Time blurred as Harry ran, ignoring his aching muscles and the drowsiness and lightheaded sensation that the small amount of magic he'd used had brought on. He noticed Will in the archery range with Tommen, helping the prince with his archery. Myrcella and several other squires and young ladies were hanging around the yard, some watching the pair (like Myrcella), others more interested in the mock duels, such as the one between Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Balon Swann, and the last group of young noblemen and knights were just standing around talking with each other. Harry didn't stop to collect his friend. He needed to hurry and besides, if things got violent in the city, he'd rather Will was around to watch over his cousins.

By the time Harry made it to the Street of Silk he had thirty of his guardsmen behind him. Not knowing how many men either Stark or his father had with them, all he could do was hope it would be enough to break up the fight. Given that his own guards were the cream of the crop from the Westerlands, their skill made even better by Harry's over rigorous training, he was confident in their chances if it came to violence.

But he was too late.

When they arrived to the brothel, it was to find Eddard Stark passed out on the ground with a spear impaled through his leg. His Valyrian Steel Greatsword lay flat next to him. His three men were dead. Harry didn't know the other two, but he recognized the one closest to where Stark lay as the Captain of the Northern guard, Jory Cassel, the dagger belonging to Harry's father having been stabbed through the mans head via his eye. Harry snarled. But while the unnecessary death and disruption to his plans, he was actually more concerned by the ratio of Lannister to Stark casualties. Despite that the Northmen had obviously been ambushed (the Lannister dead were in a semi circle around the Brothel door, with the Stark's in the middle of it, and that Jaime's men had the advantage of spears and shields to the the Northmen's swords, the end result had twice as many dead Lannister's than Stark's. If this was the result while horribly outnumbered and ambushed and under-equipped, then Harry would hate to see what happened between a Lannister force and a Stark force of equal numbers, both fully equipped and expecting battle.

Hearing a groaning behind him, he saw an unconscious soldier with a dented helmet begin to wake up. As the man struggled to his feet, Harry momentarily allowed his rage to take over. He stalked up to the unfortunate soldier and struck him with a solid hit from his pommel. The man collapsed to the ground, dead to the world, once again knocked out.

"My Lord?" he heard Eryck ask "What are your orders?"

Harry sighed and gazed sadly at the dead men around him "Ser Lyman," he barked, and the man stood just that little bit straighter "Send a man you trust to the dock to find a ship headed for White Harbour. Have a raven sent to Lord Manderly instructing him to arrange an escort to Winterfell for the bodies of three Stark guardsmen. They deserve to rest at home,"

"And our own losses my Lord?" He hated the way Lyman phrased that. 'Our own losses' implied an us against them mentality; as though Lyman and Harry and the others were on the same 'side' as the men who'd attacked four innocent men in the streets.

Gazing angrily at he dead men in his house's colours, Harry was half tempted to let them rot for being so stupid as to follow his father on his pointless and reckless revenge mission. But whatever else they were, those men were Westermen. They were Harry's countrymen. So, he gave different orders than he would have liked.

"Pick out ten men and tell them to take the bodies back to Casterly Rock. If nothing else, their families deserve to have their chance to grieve,"

Lyman nodded respectfully and began organizing men to carry out the task. Having men carry Lord Stark back to the Red Keep was something that went without saying, and Harry was proud that Lyman was autonomous enough to know to do so, even without explicit instruction. As Harry's men began to carry both the dead and the wounded back to the keep, Harry gazed back at the blood soaked ground and sighed heavily.

 _You may have just fucked us all, Father,_ he thought forlornly, before turning silently, and making his way back up Aegon's Hill.

* * *

 **HeyStardust: I think this chapter might have told you one person who Harry won't be marrying.**

 **Aragorn Potter: Harry is indeed becoming quite political. But one is not both intelligent and raised by Tywin Lannister and not pick up on some political ideals and ideas. Harry's betrayal and death: hope it satisfied you. Harry's role in the war will be a mix of fighting and ruling.**

 **Spinning Furret: I hope Harry's dismissal of the situation North of the Wall will show you that he isn't some omniscient God. He's smart and he's skilled but luck is a huge factor in canon, and will be here as well. It won't always go in Harry's favor.**

 **epsi10n: I have to ask: is your name a different way of spelling Epsilon (RvB perhaps?) And yes Harry is money smart. He comes from a childhood without money, and then suddenly has access to a lot of it. He's not likely to be stupid with it. But will him screwing Littlefinger come back to bite him? You'll have to wait and see.**

 **wolfsrun: hope this chapter answers some of your questions about the stone. As for how it got there...that will be explained eventually.**

 **ss2gohan: I will try to fix that grammar problem but I can't promise anything. I'm not so good at picking up on stuff like that in when editing.  
**

 **bloodshark: I thought about some other sigil's, but personal sigil's are usually based on the House sigil. Plus, who said Harry is still even a parselmouth?**

 **Bountyx: I will finish this story, but unfortunately I can't guarantee it will be anytime soon.**

 **RavenSeeker33: Harry hates Gregor. But at this point in time he see's Gregor as the more useful of the two.**

 **WhiteElfElder: Only a little more at this point in time, as mentioned in the chapter.**

 **Mangahero: I have plans in mind for that stone.**

 **Okiro Benhime: Harry will have a very big impact, particularly in between mid Clash of Kings/ Season 2 and mid Storm of Swords/End of Season 3**

 **MrHam31: Magic explained above. Wormtail explained above. Tommen/Will is something I have personally grown to love. It's my second or third favourite of the story arcs I have planned: out of curiosity, how do you think that will end: happily or tragically?**

 **Notasavior: He told Will that if he was going to kill a Clegane, make it Sandor.**

 **Eyann85: Your review made my day. The Stark storyline will turn out vastly different, for better or worse.**

 **Valiryo: Not every fight is about physical strength or size; you don't need to be a prodigy to beat someone with a lot of skill. That's an important note in relation to Will, keep it in mind.**

 **coldblue: 1) Harry will not meet the H.S before he comes into power (probably, I might change my mind). A different character will be the one who makes the alliance. 2) If that secret comes out, then yes it will cause a rift. But who knows? It might not be confirmed to Harry. 3) So long as Gregor is more useful alive, Harry's opinion won't change. 4) Harry will be married. I know who it will be. It won't be who he want's it to be.**

 **BioHazard82/ thunder18/LunaSunFlowerLily/ Master of Dragons God/ Burning Day/ iitrnr/ toile grant/alec-potter/ hermonine/Vengeful Astartes/ Umbra Venator/ Xelacy/ Neveryears/ ali1moshin/ Senyor Fier Mensheir/ Fainfan/ Slytherin Studios/ Arthur Shade/ Sk8rnv: thanks so much for reviewing it means a lot.  
**

 **So, I think that's it for now. Well, I'll see you next time I hope. Yozza Out!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Again I can only apologize for the wait. I just couldn't motivate myself to write this chapter for a while and I didn't want to force it.**

 **Anyway, I've gotten some reviews saying they don't like the fact that nothing has changed yet. Fair enough, each to their own, but I personally feel that it sometimes feels a bit strange when a new character manages to completely alter the story within the first book. In some cases it works but others...eh. If I had Harry changing things all over the place already then I feel like he'd come off as far too OP and make the other characters look incompetent. Events will change, starting with a few small things this chapter and his presence will result in major changes from mid-S2 and late-S3.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.**

* * *

Chapter 4  


 **HARRY**

 **Ned's Chambers**

It was all one big royal mess. His plans were sinking faster than a whore in Littlefinger's brothel could go without a client for and Harry was floundering to try and salvage them. But how could he when he still had no idea what had gone wrong. He was missing essential facts and it vexed him to no end. What he knew was that impulsive Catelyn Stark had for some unknown reason abducted his uncle on the road to Kings Landing; a road she herself had been traveling for a yet unknown reason. In retaliation, Harry's father had ambushed Lord Stark outside a brothel that Stark had been visiting for a yet unknown reason (though at least in this case, Harry had some suspicion about the honorable Warden of the North's reasons), killing the guardsmen, injuring Stark and then fleeing the city.

Harry rolled his eyes at the sound of his aunt running her mouth of and demanding justice for Jaime and Tyrion. She claimed that Jaime had told her some tale of being attacked by the drunk northerners. Harry knew this claim to be false. By the time he had made it back to the keep, Jaime had been gone from the city for hours. After investigating, Harry had discovered that his father had ridden straight from the brothel for the Lion Gate and had headed in a straight shot west from there. There had been no time for him to visit Cersei and tell her anything. Harry just counted himself as fortunate that Robert wouldn't take any sort of action over this. He wouldn't want to offend either the Lannister's or the Stark's. Robert was the sort of ruler who wanted everything to go smoothly just so that he wouldn't have to actually do anything. Luckily that meant that the King was likely to just order the two families to make peace with each other and then pretend it never happened; he was rather like Fudge in that regard, though the coal-haired man was much fiercer and was altogether better company than the imbecile that was the Minister of Magic had ever been. Harry hoped he'd be able to use that in order to reach a peaceful resolution to his families conflict with the Stark's.

Harry sighed. His father would likely be back in the West by now and that worried Harry. He knew his grandfather would not stand for the abduction of his youngest son, no matter how much the man hated him. The Lord of the Rock was all about image and the young lion could practically hear his grandfathers voice in his head _,_ speaking of how another house holding his son hostage makes the Lannister name look weak. He'd heard enough lectures of a similar tone that he was confident he could speak the next one (that was sure to happen at some point) in unison with the old Lord. He wouldn't be willing to let this go. He'd probably aim an attack against Catelyn Stark's homeland, the Riverlands, in retaliation. In response to that, the North would call it's own banner's and march to defend its allies.

The young knight knew that any sort of war with the very powerful Stark family could give him a major set back in his plans, something he could not afford happening. He was on a schedule. Cersei would eventually grow tired off constantly being in another womans shadow, and a long dead woman at that. Being queen wasn't enough for his overly ambitious aunt. She felt as though she was the greatest mind in Westeros; a female Tywin Lannister; and that she deserved everything: the Rock, her son on the Throne. Harry had heard tales that she had even tried to gain a betrothal to Rhaegar Targaryen. In truth, Harry found her conceited, arrogant and more than a little stupid. Which is exactly how he knew that Robert would be lucky to last another year before his dear wife made her move.

Now, many would wonder what exactly his goals were; what plans were so important that derailment of them had the new heir to the West so distressed. Harry knew that Robert would not reign for much longer and after the man's death Joffrey would inherit the throne. Therefore, anyone who knew of his plans (not that there were many who did) would be confused as to why Harry was bothering to gather influence in the city when his cousin would shortly have the most influence of them all. The people who would think as much, Harry thought, were fools. That his cousin would soon become one of the most powerful men in the seven kingdoms was the exact reason why he was so set on gaining as much power as he could both in the city and throughout the kingdoms. Harry was, in all honesty, scared of what could happen if Joffrey became King without anyone to keep him in check: while Cersei might think she would be able to control Joffrey, she was naive to think so having filled his head with the notion that he could whatever he liked; he wouldn't listen to reason or logic or sound advice that the small council would give. All he cared about was his own sick amusement.

So, Harry had set out to do what he must to ensure he could reign Joffrey in or even outright depose him and seat Tommen in his place, should the need arise. He curbed Littlefinger's influence, the man would just keep borrowing money and crippling the economy. He started helping Lord's Stark and Renly, trying to form better relationships with two of the Kingdoms so that they might be willing to listen to him if he ever called on their help and with the former came the Riverlands as well; Harry also hoped that the threat of four kingdoms being of friendly terms might strike enough fear into the little sadist that he would refrain from anything too tyrannical. Having the Gold Cloaks under his control would pose enough of a threat that they could be used to cow the young blonde into submission if he started abusing his power.

Tommen and Myrcella were two other factors in the equation. Harry loved those two more than anyone else in the world; he would quite willingly kill and die for them. He knew that Joffrey had always taken great pleasures in tormenting them and as king he would feel like he could do so without repercussion. He was, technically, right. And so Harry planned on inviting Tommen back to the Rock with him when his wardship with Robert ended. Tommen was already heir to Storm's End but Harry suspected that he wouldn't hold that title long. Despite the man's preferences, Renly would be capable enough of having a son and Harry doubted the youngest of the Baratheon brothers was stupid enough to never have a child. Luckily, that played right into Harry's hands. He could bring Tommen to Casterly Rock and none would question it; they would simply assume that Harry wanted to make sure he had an heir ready and waiting for when he became Lord and had decided that his young cousin was suitable until Harry had a son of his own. By the time that happened, Harry had planned, the reconstruction of Castamere would be complete and the castle could be granted to Roberts youngest.

Myrcella was a little trickier. There was no good reason for her to go the Casterly Rock for more than a visit, so Harry had instead spent his time in Kings Landing meeting several young lords and lordlings to try and find one that he approved of. So far he had found no one suitable for his cousin. Edmure Tully came the closest but in Harry's eyes the age difference was just too large.

To this end he had been working to improve the King's opinion of him. Cersei would never allow anyone to take her children, and Robert was the only one who could override Cersei's decisions. He needed Robert's trust if he wanted any chance of getting permission to take Tommen west or of Robert actually listening to any suggested betrothal's for the princess. His standing may have taken a blow when he supported Stark in his stance against the assassination attempts, but the harming of children was the one crime he could never, ever forgive.

Harry sighed again and took a deep drink from the cup of wine he was holding. So much hard work put into this...and if Harry wasn't careful his plans could all crumble into nothing.

"Your pardon, your grace" a heavy northern accent, laced with pain, said from behind him "I would rise but..."

Stark's voice drew Harry out of his thoughts and prompted him to turn from the window he been staring out of, his body leaning heavily against the wall. The man had trailed of and tried to shift, obviously finding discomfort in his injury.

Robert just continued to gaze at Stark concernedly. Cersei did not have the same sympathy the King had.

"Do you know what your wife has done?" Cersei asked pompously. Harry studied the weathered face of Ned Stark as recognition and resignation flashed in his eyes. His normally too easy to read face relaxed into a blank mask as he responded that Lady Catelyn's actions were ordered by himself. He was lying, then, Harry deduced, so as to protect his wife. Understandable, really. He suspected that the same devotion could be found in any marriage that involved real love.

"Who'd have thought she'd have it in her," Robert almost snorted, and in any other circumstance likely would have.

"By what right do you lay hands on my blood?" Cersei demanded, carefully avoiding the word 'brother'; to do so would be to admit a familial relationship which Harry knew Cersei loathed doing, both in regards to Tyrion and himself.

"I am the King's Hand, charged with keeping the peace," Stark spoke clearly despite the pain he must be in, and Harry's respect for the man rose a little. He ignored Cersei loudly speaking over him "You were the Kings Hand; you will now be held accountable!"

Robert stepped in to try and end the argument "Oh, will both of you shut your mouths! Catelyn will release Tyrion and you'll make your peace with Jaime!" The King commanded in a large booming voice, one that demanded obedience and would not tolerate any arguments.

Harry, though not even the one being spoken to as he was content to quietly observe the verbal sparring for now, was unwilling to test Roberts limits and so when Stark did, the logical conclusion Harry arrived at was that the Northerner was quite a bit braver than Harry himself.

"He butchered my men," Stark replied, his voice filled to bursting with genuine grief. Harry wondered if his father even cared about the six dead Lannister men he'd left in the street.

Cersei looked smug as she spoke "Lord Stark was returning drunk from a brothel when his men attacked Jaime,"

"Quiet woman," growled Robert and the Queen looked rather offended at her accusation being brushed off so easily.

Harry had decided to speak up at the same time as Robert "I'm afraid I must disagree, your grace," he said smoothly, addressing Cersei "The way the bodies lay; the Stark men were surrounded. It was an ambush," He saw Stark look slightly surprised. He hadn't noticed him until he spoke.

Cersei was glaring daggers at him, but he expertly ignored her.

Stark spoke again, flashing an apologetic look to Harry first "Jaime has fled the city. Give me leave to bring him back to justice,"

Harry was worried when Robert didn't answer for a moment and looked quite pensieve.

Cersei noticed the hesitation too "I took you for a King,"

"Hold your tongue,"

"He's attacked one of my brothers and abducted the other. I should wear the armour, and you the gown," Cersei spat spitefully. Harry was rather shocked that she would so openly insult her husband. Then again, she had always thought herself far cleverer and more cunning than she really was. Robert looked angry as well, which was never a good sign. His face remained impassive, other than when he snapped his gaze right towards her, but his eyes blazed with wildfire. It happened so fast Harry barely noticed it when Robert struck her. It was a fast hit and looked like it hurt immensely despite the little effort Robert seemed to have used. Harry was torn as to what to feel. On the one hand, it was wrong to strike a woman and despite how much of a loathsome bitch she could be, she was his aunt. By the same token however, she was a rotten bitch that had enjoyed tormenting him when he was a child, and men were; more oft than not; the dominant sex in Westeros.

Cersei, to her credit, recovered quickly "I will wear this like a badge of honour,"

"Wear it in silence, or I'll honour you again,"

Harry had to admit, despite the awkwardness and the tension, that that was a good line.

Cersei quickly left, and Robert immediately turned back to Ned, "See what she does to me, my loving wife?" he couldn't sound more sarcastic if he tried. Robert stayed true to himself by pouring a cup of wine for himself. He sighed "I should not have hit her. It was not...it was not kingly,"

At least he knew he'd done wrong, Harry admitted mentally. He'd known people who had struck their wife or their children without remorse; Vernon came to mind, though he had never struck Dudley or Petunia, to Harry's knowledge.

"We all have lapses of judgement when emotions are involved, as they so often are when concerning family or pride," Harry spoke quietly but in the silence of the room, the other two occupants heard him clear as day. _And which motivated your wife, Lord Stark?,_ Harry wondered. She was a Tully; Family, Duty, Honor. Something pertaining to family had set Catelyn loose against the Lannister's. But what?

Robert snorted "Are you sure you're a Lannister. You've got more brains in your sword hand than any of the other blonde shits in this infernal city have combined,"

"If we do not act," Stark began "there will be a war,"

"And I'm sure we can agree that a war would be the last thing the realm needs right now," Harry retorted.

Robert clearly agreed "The boy has the right of it Ned. Tell your wife to return that little shit of an imp to Kings Landing. She's had her fun, now put an end to it. You hear me? Send a raven and put an end to it,"

Stark looked conflicted "And what about Jaime Lannister?"

Robert looked set to demand Ned leave the matter alone, but here, Harry stepped in.

"I'll find him, your grace. I'll ride out in the morn and track him down," Harry offered "He acted out of grief for his kidnapped brother; a feeling I'm sure you understand Lord Stark. I'll convince him to return to Kings Landing so we can settle this matter without a fight,"

Ned seemed unsure but Robert agreed. Unsurprising really. He was still heavily indebted to Tywin Lannister and clearly just wanted the matter dealt with as quickly as possible.

"Good. You'll find Jaime and bring him back. He and Ned will make their peace and Tyrion will be returned. No further fighting. I can't rule the Kingdom if the Starks and the Lannisters are at each others throats!" he barked "Ned, I don't know what happened between you and them, but it's over. Enough! Make your peace with them. You can start here, where there's at least one of them that's willing to work with you," he gestured towards Harry who inclined his head in deference to the two men, both of whom were far more powerful than he.

"As you command your grace," Stark answered dutifully, though Harry detected some resentment in his voice "With your leave, I will return to Winterfell and set the matter straight"

"Piss on that, send a raven, I want you to stay. I'm the King. I get what I want," Robert demanded, drinking deeply again. Harry supposed there were worse ways to abuse your power than ordering a friend to stick around. "I never loved my brothers. A sad thing for a man to admit but it's true. You were the brother I chose,"

Robert drained his glass and placed it back on the tray before standing and tossing the Hand's pin onto the bed. Harry watched in slight shock as it bounced next to Stark. It just didn't compute that the man who had openly defied his King; who the King had spent an hour ranting and raging about; was just being given the most powerful council position again. It just didn't make sense.

"The hunt," he heard Stark asked in a confused tone.

"Killing things, clears my head. You'll have to sit on the throne while I'm away," he laughed "you'll hate it worse than I did,"

As Robert was walking out, Stark seemed to try once more to appeal to Roberts better nature, which Harry now knew was a fool's task "The Targaryen girl..."

"Seven Hells, don't start with her again! The girl will die, I'll hear no more about it," he pointed at Stark "Put on the badge. Put it on and if you ever take the damn thing of again I swear I'll pin the damn thing on Jaime Lannister,"

After Robert had left, Harry approached Stark.

"He doesn't mean that, you know," Harry offered "He knows my father wouldn't be up to that job,"

Stark simply stared at him.

Harry sighed once more. He seemed to be doing that a lot today "I'm sorry about your men. I didn't know them but they seemed like goof people. They didn't deserve that,"

"I thank you for your kindness, my Lord,"

"I'm not a Lord yet, Lord Stark," there was a long pause before Harry spoke again, evidently surprising Stark with his chosen topic "I heard you fought Arthur Dayne once?"

Stark's eyes widened slightly and he looked at Harry confused as to the abrupt turn about in the conversation "I did. He and Ser Oswell Whent were guarding the tower Rhaegar kept my sister in. There were six of us, and yet only myself and one other walked away. Why?"

"My father told me stories about him when I was growing up. All the other boys were interested in Aegon the Conqueror and Daemon Blackfyre. I was only ever interested in my father's tales about Ser Arthur,"

Stark, despite his apparent hatred of the Lannister's chuckled slightly "He was the greatest swordsmen I ever saw," Ned paused "They all were; Aerys Kingsguard. Mad he may have been, but he didn't take security lightly. It's a pity it's fallen as far as it has,"

Harry imagined he must look almost wistful as he imagined the Kingsguard in the glory it once held "Perhaps we might one day find a King who can restore it to it's former glory,"

"Perhaps"

"My father told me that Ser Arthur could have slain any of the current Kingsguard, save Ser Barristan, with his left hand while taking a piss with his right," Harry idly commented.

"Likely true," Stark said, and then grudgingly admitted that "I doubt there is any man alive today who knew Ser Arthur as well as your father,"

"My father...he acted only of fear for his brother. You understand that, don't you, my Lord? You once did the same for your sister," Harry had reached the point he'd hoped the conversation would get to and was pleased that his chosen topic had gotten him to where he wanted. Ser Arthur was a good choice to direct their talk with mainly because it was completely true; the best way to manipulate someone was to lie as little as possible.

Stark faltered at that comparison. He closed his eyes. He sighed and then opened his eyes, meeting Harry's green. "My sister died before I could save her. I had gone to rescue her, but a fever took her and I had to leave Dorne with her body and six cairns left behind me instead. Perhaps the same need not be true of Lord Tyrion,"

"A fever," Harry frowned. Rumor had it that Lord Stark had left Dorne with a bastard towards the end of the war. He had thought it unrelated to Lord Starks sister but if Lyanna Stark had been held in Dorne...that bore looking into. He shook his head slightly "Thank you, Lord Stark. My condolences for your sister. I can't imagine how that must have felt; I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Tommen or Myrcella,"

He made to leave, but stopped at the last second "Lord Stark," he said "my Grandfather will want blood and I may not reach him in time to stop him. However, he may be more hesitant to act should he learn that the North is amassing it's armies. Perhaps a raven to your son would be prudent,"

Stark narrowed his eyes and Harry felt like he was being considered very carefully "I was under the impression that you did not want war,"

"I don't. But if there is to be one...I don't want to see your family meet the same end the Reyne's did. I respect you too much for that," and with those parting words, he was gone.

 **Practice Room-Red Keep**

"I don't want to practice today," he heard Arya say as approached the room the small class had taken over for practicing. Harry hesitated, correctly guessing the reason for Arya's depressed mood and feeling sure that she wouldn't appreciate his presence. Hell, she was probably at odds with Tommen and William enough anyway. At least neither of them shared the Lannister name.

 _Get over yourself,_ he told himself harshly, _you're a knight now, and a Lannister. Are you afraid of a little girl_

"No?" he heard Syrio's Braavosi accent as he pushed the door open.

"They killed Jory. My father's hurt," she said glumly, looking at the floor. Off to the side, Tommen, Ty and Will looked distinctly uncomfortable "I don't care about stupid wooden swords"

"You are troubled," Syrio said knowingly as he approached.

"Yes," was Arya's reply and for that she earned a light rap on the arm from said wooden sword, as Harry stood back and let the scene play out.

"Good. Trouble is the perfect time for training," _Oh how right he is,_ Harry mused. "When you are dancing in the meadow with your dolls and kitten's; this is not when fighting happens,"

"I don't like dolls and..." another rap.

"You're not here. You are with your trouble. If you are with your trouble when fighting happens..." he trailed off and swatted her arm again and that was all it took to get Arya into action. Smirking, Harry made his way over to his co-teacher/student and two full time students. He heard Arya fall and Syrio calmly finished his sentance "More trouble for you. Just so,"

He noticed that the three were already wielding practice swords and wearing thick padding. He quickly had the two youngest start practicing stances and drills in front of a pair of training dummies. They had the basic stance mostly down, but Ty often forgot to bend his knees while Tommen kept his feet too close together; both hastily addressed by Harry. Tommen's grip was bit too tight, but quickly corrected himself at only a look from Will. Ty lunged with far to much aggression and in a real fight would have been leaving his guard down. They were improving though.

Harry tuned back in to Syrio's lesson as he heard a comment that caught his attention.

"There is only one god. And his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to death; not today,"

Harry chuckled. The lesson went on and after what Harry estimated to be an hour of Syrio and Arya's wooden swords clanking against each other behind him and having his students practice, he called Tommen and Ty and gave them a breather. Tommen, hesitant though he was, brought up the topic Harry had hoped to avoid.

"Are you really leaving?" he asked, his voice small and disappointed. That caught Arya's attention.

Harry bit his lip (a nervous habit) before he responded "In the morning. I'm heading out to try and find my father, to bring him back to the city before he does something stupid,"

He hated the look of disappointment on his cousin's face.

"Hey," he said pushing Tommen's hand up by the chin in a manner eerily similar to Syrio Forel "I'll be back, I promise. But, since this will be your last session with me for a while, I have a treat for you,"

With that he went over to the wrapped object he had brought with him. He unwrapped it and revealed a scabbard within it. He quickly tied it to his belt and drew blade, revealing it to be a blunted tourney blade. The four onlookers took note of the fact that Harry was wearing his armour, and then shortly afterwards that Syrio was twirling his wooden practice sword and assuming a Braavosi water-dancing stance; his right foot forward, turned to the side, leaning backwards so his weight was on his back foot and his sword held loosely in front of him. They realized what they were about to see moments before it began.

Ever since Syrio first arrived there had been discussion between Arya, Tommen, Ty and Will about who the better fighter was. Arya claimed the Syrio was the best swordsman who ever lived. The other three had claimed that Harry had that honour. Of course, neither Syrio or Harry had believed themselves to be the best. Both knew that there were men who could tear them apart as easy as a knife through butter. However, seeing as he was to be leaving on a mission soon, Harry had decided to give his students a show.

Harry began with a quick attack, swinging his sword down onto Syrio's right arm, aiming for his wrist but the Braavosi; quick as a snake; snapped his forward right foot backwards and changing his stance allowing him to parry much more easily, pushing Harry's sword to the left. He brought his arm back across his body and in the process deflected Syrio's lunge and smoothly transitioned into an downward swing that the short man spun out of the way of with a practiced ease. He held his stance for a moment, probably examining Harry's defense and looking for a weak spot. Harry didn't give him the opportunity.

Harry darted forward. For all his armour he could move deceptively quickly and delivered a swift series of attacks that Syrio blocked, parried or dodged without trouble. The dark haired man twirled in a circle to avoid a lunge and swiped his sword at Harry's chest. Harry had to jump backwards to avoid it and Syrio knocked his sword to the side when he tried to bring it up to defend or counterattack. Harry was forced back a few more steps before he could attack again. He swiped but Syrio just dropped to the ground and rolled; a move that would have gotten anyone wearing armour killed; and took a shot at Harry's forward leg as he rose. Harry drew his leg back and swapped stance's to adjust for the shift in balance. Syrio moved in again, this time on the offensive and Harry was shocked by how fast the man could move. He'd only seen speed of this level a few times before; most notably his father and Ser Barristan. He struggled to defend against the blows, but managed well enough. When one came in too close he drew his sword back and let the wooden sword clash against his gauntlet before swinging his sword up and crashing the flat of it against Syrio's hand. The wooden sword went flying.

The entire fight; start to finish; had been fast paced and taken less than fifteen seconds. Syrio graciously accepted defeat, bowing slightly and respectfully. Harry, though, acknowledged that only the most talented swordsmen of Westeros could go up against the Braavosi in a relatively fair fight and come out on top.

Will had seen Harry fight before and had expected his skill, though he was impressed by how well Syrio had done. The other three audience members were awed. They'd never seen either of the two fight properly, only in training where the two were usually the teachers and holding back so as to teach their students properly.

Tommen's cheer only lasted until the following morning however. He was there with Myrcella to see him off. Surprisingly, so was Lord Stark, Lady Sansa and Arya. The auburn haired girl didn't really look as though she wanted to be there, though she was courteous enough and wished him a safe journey. Arya had confidently but jokingly told him that she would be good enough to beat him by the time he returned. Myrcella was sad to see her cousin go, but not as much as Tommen was. He was being quite sulky until Harry had told him that Will was staying and would take over his lessons. That had improved his mood quite a bit.

Will was being left behind with half of the White Lions. He'd been instructed to keep both the King and Lord Stark alive until Harry returned. Will had just nodded and told him to consider it done; Harry trusted that his friend would do his best to ensure that goal was reached, a trust that was deemed well placed when William had immediately sent a party of four of the best men Harry had given him to find the King and help guard him 'just in case'.

"With luck, I'll be back before your nameday," he told Myrcella with a smile. Her nameday was in six weeks. It would be a stretch, but Harry figured that he should be able to do it if they pushed their mounts hard.

 **The Riverlands**

It was two weeks later that they found the first sign of any trouble. They were passing through the Riverlands near Pinkmaiden Castle, ruled by House Piper, a few dozen miles south of Riverrun. They were fast approaching a little village they had thought they might find some fresh provisions at. They had enough food but some fresh stuff never hurt. It was the screams that first alerted them to the problem. As soon as the clash of steel, the smell of blood and the screams and cries of terrified people reached the fifty man convoy Harry had spurred his horse forward and had been about to tell his men to defend the peasants when he caught sight of something that chilled his blood. A huge man swinging a two handed greatsword around as though it were nothing. Only one man came to mind.

"Clegane!" Harry roared as he yanked on the reigns "What in Seven Hells are you doing?"

The man turned from where he had split a man and a young boy, no older than Tommen, in two and was pinning a struggling woman to the ground with ease. He glared out of his helmet at Harry, like he was questioning what right Harry had to spoil his fun.

He grunted as he started to tear the sobbing woman's clothes "Lord Tywin's orders. Get back at the Tully bitch for taking the imp,"

Harry paled dramatically. He looked around him. Dead people littered the ground. Homes and farmland burned to a crisp. Women and even girls being raped and used for entertainment! Livestock slaughtered. Men and young boys butchered for no reason. He felt sick. He knew that evil things were sometimes necessary. Hell, in his time he had done a lot of evil things. But this wasn't needed. He turned to his men.

"We need to get to my Grandfather, now!"

 **NED**

 **The Throne Room  
**

Sitting on the Iron Throne, Ned felt distinctly uneasy. This seat wasn't his and was never meant to be. He was supposed to rule the North from Winterfell and be with his family. But yet here he was.

He had been in his solar going over letters before he had been summoned to the Throne Room to listen to petitioners. He had, as his King had ordered sent a raven to Winterfell requesting that Cat release the imp. He felt slightly better about following that order after speaking with Tywin Lannister's heir; he still chuckled at the childlike excitement that had gleamed in the emerald eyes when Harry spoke of the man he clearly idolized.

Even so, within that letter he had also commanded Robb to send raven's to his bannermen, calling them to arms. It took time for the North to amass it's full strength. He only hoped that his letter had given Robb enough time to get a solid army formed. He had been hearing disturbing rumors about the armies of the Westerlands gathering in the Golden pass and he had yet to hear back from Harry, who had promised to send word as soon as he and his father began making their way back to King's Landing.

More concerning however, was Robb's reply that had arrived only that morning. Catelyn had never arrived at Winterfell nor had any of the bannermen seen her making her way North. Which means she hadn't gone North and so now Ned had no idea where his wife had taken the Imp. He had sent messages to both the Eryie and Riverrun, but he had heard nothing back from either yet. Not surprising, really. He had only sent them that day. His letter to Hoster had also included a warning about Lannister movement and advice that he might want to prepare a defense at the Golden Tooth.

And now here he was. He sat upon the most uncomfortable and ugliest chair he ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on with Baelish to his right and Grand Maester Pycelle to his right, both making notes though likely of very different content. The hall was guarded by a mixture of men. Ned's own men surrounded the dais and throne with an interchanging mix of Lannister and City Watch men standing around the perimeter of the hall. Though Ned had seen some improvement in their effectiveness in the past few weeks, the Gold Cloaks had started to become less efficient almost immediately after Harry's departure. The Lannister men, Ned had been glad to notice, bore white lions on their shields instead of gold. He was incredibly relieved. It was almost to impossible to believe that both Harry's men and the Queen's were all Lannister soldiers. The White Lions were disciplined, tough and skilled. The Gold Lions, by contrast, seemed incapable of anything other than simply accepting orders. They were amateur fighters, really, Ned had found, and had to rely on cheap tricks to win.

The man Ned was listening to at that moment, though, made him wish there were no Lannisters in the hall at all.

"They burned most everything in the Riverlands; our fields, our granaries, our homes," the poor farmer was practically sobbing. He had been brought by Lord Darry as a witness to the atrocities that were being committed in the Riverlands. There were others just like him. Some were poor farmers, fisher's, crofters or some other job. Others were men-at-arms. There were several young knights and lordlings from the Riverlands there too. The farmer was still speaking "They took our women. Then they took 'em again. And when they was done they butchered them as if they was animals. The covered our children...in pitch and lit them on fire,"

Ned had to work very hard to keep his emotions under control.

"Brigands, most likely," Maester Pycelle said, uninterestedly. Ned wasn't so sure. By the look on his face neither was William Buckwell from where he stood next to Prince Tommen who looked horrified. Ned honestly hadn't wanted the boy here. But the Prince had first asked and then ordered when he was first denied. He hadn't had such determination in Winterfell, yet he'd insisted that he was already learning how to fight and now wanted to learn how to rule properly. Ned had seen the sense in that; he supposed seeing his role model on the Small Council had inspired some sort of fire in the boy

Ned imagined that he would catch hell from the Queen for this yet he couldn't disobey the Prince. And he was sure Cersei knew nothing about where Tommen was at that very moment, else all Tommen would have had to do was ask his mother and he would have gotten his way.

The farmer looked offended too "They weren't thieves. They didn't steal nothing. They actually, left something behind, your grace,"

Ned saw the amusement flash across William's face. The young archer and the Prince stood slightly to the side of the trio of council members. Pycelle took offense though "It is the King's Hand you are addressing not the King," Ned gave him a stern look "The King is hunting,"

Lord Darry strode forward and upended a sack on the floor. Mutilated fish fell out, mainly trout. Many people; courtiers mostly, not the Riverlands delegation; flinched at the sight and smell. The Prince looked slightly green but didn't look away. William just tilted his head curiously.

"Fish," Lord Baelish said "The sigil of House Tully. Isn't that your wife's house, my Lord Hand; Tully," the last was whispered so only he could hear. Ned considered the man a moment. He had gotten some of his arrogance back without Renly or Harry there. Ned noticed that the income had dropped a little since then but it looked like the reason was actually a loss of income from the Riverlands (understandable) and not some plot by Baelish.

He turned back to the man "These men; were they flying a sigil?"

The peasant looked confused.

"A banner?"

"No, your...hand," he stumbled "The man who led; taller than a foot than any man I ever met; he cut the blacksmith in two. Saw him take the head of a horse with a single stroke,"

At this description, Baelish sat up straighter and once again turned to Ned "That sounds like someone we know: The Mountain,"

Ned addressed the peasant in front of him "The man you are describing is Ser Gregor Clegane,"

"And why would Ser Gregor turn brigand? The man is an anointed Knight," Pycelle huffed. Ned was already suspicious. This statement just confirmed it for him; there was no denying such a description. Therefore, Pycelle had an agenda. Ned wasn't good at politics but he knew enough to realize that Pycelle had an angle that wouldn't be favorable to him.

"I've heard him called Tywin Lannister's Mad Dog. I'm sure you have too," Baelish retorted, before lowering his voice again "Can you think of any reason the Lannister's might have to be angry with your wife?"

"If the Lannisters were to attack villages under the Kings protection well that would surely be..." Pycelle didn't get a chance to stutter to the end of his sentence.

"That would almost be as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital," Pycelle just hummed a non-committal noise of half agreement to Baelish's statement.

Ned looked around the room before focusing in on the Riverlanders "I cannot give you back your homes, not restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our King, Robert Baratheon. Lord Beric Dondarion," he waited until the man was in the center of the room "You shall have the command. Assemble a hundred men and ride to Ser Gregor's keep,"

"As you command!"

Ned slowly stood, taking care to stay upright with his cane "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm I charge you to bring justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane and all those who shared in his crime. I denounce him and detaint him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death,"

Pycelle lurched to his feet, or lurched as much as he could in his frail state "My Lord, this is a drastic action. It would be better to wait until King Robert's return,"

"Grand Maester Pycelle," Ned continued and ignored his mumbled 'my Lord'. He thought carefully here. Harry's argument that Jaime had only acted for family had affected him more then he let on and found that though he still loathed the man, it was much less pronounced now and he would not take it out on the whole family. For the sake of the Westerosi people, if nothing else, he was willing to let his feud end "Send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Lord Tywin of the situation and that his assistance in the matter would be most appreciated,"

The Riverlords bowed to him, as did Ser Beric. Littlefinger looked surprised, and William gave him a nod. Ned took a deep breath and hoped he'd done the right thing.

 **HARRY**

 **The Westerlands**

It was in a sea of red that Harry found his grandfather. Crimson red tents flying the Lannister banner as far as the eye could see, with patches of different colours intermingled with the lion sigil identifying the bannerman. Harry saw many but only had time to take in a few: the burning tree of the Marbrands who had gifted him a set of golden spurs (really just gilded steel but, as his father said, "nobody needs to know that") just the year before, the unicorn of the Brax's, the Seashells of the Westerlings and of course the three dogs of the Clegane's. That such an army had amassed already with more still to arrive worried Harry. Should this host meet another then Westeros would bleed. Should the Lannisters lose, then Harry's strength would be greatly diminished. Of course, in the case of a Lannister loss then it would most likely wouldn't remain _his_ strength for very long.

Predictably, Harry discovered both his father and grandfather in the largest tent of them all. It was a red, silk pavilion adorned with swirling gold patterns and was much grander than Harry's refined tastes liked.

Jaime Lannister was pacing up and down the tent reading a letter. His hair was longer than it had been when Harry had last seen the man and Jaime clearly hadn't shaved since leaving King's Landing judging by the stubble that was growing on his face. Harry understood perfectly, rubbing irritably at the growth on his own face. He was donned in a dark red set of armour with golden highlights, both colours shining in the light. _Tinted metal rather than paint?_ Harry wondered idly. Jaime's sword hung on his left side as usual, the man's hand resting gently on the pommel.

Tywin, despite being dressed in far less formal clothing than Harry was used to. He wore a simple tunic and breaches with a leather apron over the front. He was casually gutting and skinning a stag that had been laid out on the table. The symbolism wasn't lost on Harry. Despite the fact that Tywin, of the three people present, was looking the least impressive or intimidating; he was balding and his once blonde hair was grey, he wasn't wearing any armour, and in his old age probably didn't look much of a fighter any more; he was easily the biggest presence in the tent. Hell he probably had the most commanding presence for dozens of miles in any direction.

"Father, Grandfather," Harry greeted respectfully.

"Harry?" Jaime sounded surprised, but glad which Harry grudgingly admitted (mentally) warmed his heart just a little.

"Grandson," his grandfather showed no surprise at his presence. Tywin Lannister was intimidating, appearance or not. He had a voice that simply demanded respect and you'd better give it or else. Harry bowed his head "I hear you're a true Lannister now. And a knight too. Don't let it go to your head; as a Lannister you have responsibilities and expectations, ones that you were free from while your name was still Hill. You aren't a true knight yet, either, not until you've fought in a real battle,"

"I expect I'll be seeing one soon enough. Is all this really necessary?" Harry asked, referring to the assembled army and the burning of the Riverlands. Harry knew that he was failing to conceal the anger that burned inside of him "With Joffrey soon to be on the throne we shouldn't be wasting our strength on fighting the Starks,"

"Joffrey?" Jaime asked confusedly.

Tywin turned to Jaime instead of answering the question, which made Harry bristle. Instead the Lord of Casterly Rock asked "Are you going to inform the rest of us what that letter says?"before turning and getting on with the task at hand.

Jaime opened the scroll again "'To inform you of crimes committed by your bannerman Gregor Clegane'," he paused and there was presumably a description of the crimes which made his father flinch slightly "'Assistance in resolving the matter appreciated' I'd have thought Ned Stark more brash than this,"

"I convinced him it was in the best interest's of the realm to maintain peace with our family. A fact which is undermined by the fact that we are calling our armies together and allowing the Mountain free reign in the Riverlands,"

"Attacking him was stupid," Tywin declared suddenly and then turned and began to slice open the Stag's stomach. He made quick work of it, slicing through the skin and quickly pulling out the insides of the deceased animal and dumping them in a pot that was laid out for that precise reason "Lannister's don't act like fools,"

Harry noticed his father opening his mouth to speak but Tywin cut him off before he could get a single word out "Are you going to say something clever?" he paused, then waved at Jaime with the knife in his hand "Go on, say something clever,"

"Catelyn Stark took my brother," Jaime said suddenly and Harry winced. He noticed Tywin's almost laugh.

"Why is he still alive?"

"Tyrion?"

"Ned Stark"

"One of our men interfered. Speared him through the leg before I could finish him," Ah, that would be the poor fool that Harry had knocked out. Seems like his first bout of unconsciousness had been inflicted by Jaime himself.

"Why is he still alive," Tywin repeated.

"It wouldn't have been clean," Jaime said slowly.

"Clean," Tywin repeated derisively "You spend too much time worrying about what people think of you,"

Jaime looked offended, but Harry knew his father well enough to tell a mask from true emotion "I could care less what anyone thinks of me,"

"No, that's what you want people to think of you," Tywin told Jaime

"It's the truth," but the Warden of the West ignored him and turned on Harry.

"And you," Tywin considered him a moment "I sent you a hundred men but my scouts report only fifty with you. Where are the others?"

The young man shifted uncomfortably under his grandfather's gaze. It was a gaze that would have unsettled even the bravest of men. "In King's Landing," Harry ducked his head, knowing he would get chewed out for this "Under Will's command,"

"You put far too much faith in that boy." Tywin was now slicing and peeling the skin away from the Stag's carcass. He appreciated Will's value but discouraged trusting him "I gave you permission to use the money Robert owes us to gain influence in Kings Landing. What have you done with it?"

Harry hesitated for a moment "I removed the widespread corruption in the City Watch; or more accurately, replaced it with my own. The City Watch of Kings Landing is pretty much mine now. I gained a seat on the Small Council, and I was working on building relations with Lord Renly and Stark

Tywin cut in "Exactly. And you continued in that goal even after Catelyn Stark took your uncle,"

"Joffrey is a monster. He will become a tyrant the second that crown touches his head. We need to be ready to remove him if he goes too far, for the good of the realm and to do that we need allies. The Starks are better as allies than enemies," Harry's argument sounded weak to his own ears. He knew his grandfather placed the family and its legacy above all else and expected the same from Harry. Yet the boy's actions quite clearly worked against that.

"For the good of the realm? I never took for a naive fool," his grandfather scolded. Tywin placed a hand on Harry's neck. Harry didn't think twice about the blood. "The 'good of the realm' doesn't matter. What matters is our family legacy. I indulged you in your plots because influence in the realm is never a bad thing. But you will not continue with your desperate efforts to avoid war at the expense of our standing among the other House's. Or do you want to see our House fall to ruin?"

"What? No, of course not! I'm loyal to the family, I just..." Harry sighed and looked down in defeat. Tywin nodded and returned to skinning the deer.

"My wife is dead. Soon I'll be dead. Both of you will be dead" Tywin was clearly directing this at both Harry and Jaime now "So will your brother be; your sister and all her children. The family name will be all thats left. It's all that lives on when our bodies are rotting in the ground. Jaime; attacking Ned Stark was stupid. Not finishing him off was even more so. From now on can I count on you to do what needs to be done, regardless of how 'clean' it is?"

"You can," Jaime affirmed.

"Harry, no matter your opinion on the boy, Joffrey is family. He's a Lannister, perhaps not in name but in blood. Whether you think it's good for the realm or not, Joffrey being King is good for our House. You think you need the Stark's to control him; perhaps you are right. But they have taken your uncle. He may be the lowest of the Lannister's but he's one of us and as long as another house can hold him with impunity the less our name commands respect. Can I trust you to do what is right for our house, before all else,"

Harry hesitated his family pride, loyalty to his grandfather and his more Slytherin traits coming into conflict with the shred of honour and moral decency he still had. But until the piercing stare of his Grandfather's green eyed stare proved too much. His resolve crumbled and he meekly nodded. As strong as he was, some of his weakness was still there and his Grandfather knew how to expertly exploit that.

"Good. In answer to your earlier question; yes, this is necessary. The Starks hold a Lannister hostage. If another house can seize one of our own without retribution then we are no longer a house to be feared," he glanced at Jaime "Perhaps I should be grateful that your vanity got in the way of your recklessness; I'm putting you in charge of twenty thousand men. Take them and besiege Catelyn Stark's girlhood home. I will lead the rest of our forces through the Riverlands to the Ruby Ford. Harry, you will ride with me,"

"Yes father,""Yes Grandfather,"

"The future of our family will be determined in these next few months. We could establish a dynasty that could last a thousand years or we collapse into nothing as the Targaryen's did. I need the both of you to become the men you were always meant to be; not next year, not tomorrow. Now,"

With that Tywin turned back to continue slicing up the dead animal he had been working on throughout their conversation. Harry watched his father leave the tent, his eyes a little unfocused. Harry shortly afterward decided to follow. He had a letter to write.

 **NED  
**

 **The Red Keep**

He was walking down a corridor discussing his guard detail with William Buckwell when the news came. Of the hundred men that guarded Winterfell, Ned had taken sixty of them South with him. Of those, ten had been sent back North to escort Lady's bones, three had been slaughtered in the streets of Kings Landing by Jaime and his men while yet another twenty now rode with Beric Dondarion to bring the Mountain to justice. He had less than thirty left now; ten of them would be leaving with Sansa and Arya and were currently being used to guard the Tower of the Hand. It left him with very few personal guards.

Buckwell was trying to convince him to accept some White Lions to aid in guarding himself. A knight by the name of Elys Westerling walked with them who Ned distinctly remembered being the one who opened the gate to his army during the sack of Kings Landing. Ned's only guard that day, Varly as on Ned's right. More than once, Ned had nearly called Jory's name by mistake.

"NED!" Renly called in a broken voice as he hurried around a corner behind them. His once elegant robes were ragged and covered in blood "It's Robert, we were hunting...a boar..." Renly trailed off and began to head back down the hall, gesturing at the small group to follow him.

 _Gods,_ Ned thought as he saw the wound. Joffrey had been sent away shortly after his arrival and as he had left, Ned had felt sorry for the boy. For that was what he was, a young boy about to lose the man he thought was his father.

The wound was jagged and deep and looked fatal. _My fault,_ Robert had said _too much wine_. Ned's gaze locked on the Queen as she stood silent beside Maester Pycelle.

"Stinks," Robert grunted "Stinks like death. They'll think I can't smell it. I paid the bastard back Ned. I drove me knife right through it's brain, ask 'em if I didn't. Ask 'em," he encouraged laughing despite his wound. Ned indulgently turned to Renly and Ser Barristan, standing on the other side of the bed. They both nodded, and Renly tried to crack a weak smile.

"I want the funeral feast to be the biggest the Kingdoms ever saw. And I want everyone to taste the boar that got me. Now leave us the lot of you, I need to talk to Ned,"

The Queen's mask of false compassion crumbled at that. Ned knew why; she was scared of what he might reveal. He had confronted her with the truth in the Gods Wood. It had no Heart Tree but it was the closest he could get to the Old Gods while in the accursed city. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were not the Kings children. They were bastards born of incest between Cersei and the Kingslayer, as proved by the old book Jon Arryn had been reading. The Baratheon lineages proved it; never before had a Baratheon been anything other than black of hair, no matter who the mother was. Even in the examples of Lannister-Baratheon marriages he had found. Ned couldn't help but wonder if Harry himself knew; knew about his fathers relationship, that he had brothers and a sister. He treated Tommen and Myrcella like siblings anyway, so perhaps the boy suspected if nothing else.

At first, Ned had wondered if Harry might not be Cersei's son as well. After all, he had been born before Cersei had married and so couldn't have been passed off as a trueborn. Therefore, the logical solution would be to hide him as Jaime's bastard. But no. The Queen's attitude towards Harry quickly removed that notion from his head. Her love of her children was her only redeeming quality in Ned's eyes; and it was for that he warned her that Robert would soon know and gave her a chance to escape; and her hatred of Harry was very real.

With Robert dying, she felt her secret would be safe, not knowing that Ned had already sent word to Stannis on Dragonstone. She didn't want that secret exposed to the King in his last moments for fear of what might happen.

"Robert, my sweet..." she tried, but Robert wasn't interested.

"Out! All of you!" He shouted. The small council obediently began leaving and with a look of contempt on her face, Cersei did the same.

"You damned fool," Ned said, sitting on the bed after they had all left.

"Paper and ink on the table," Robert told him "Write down what I say,"

Ned, dutiful as always, did as commanded.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his; you know how it goes, fill in the damn titles," Robert dictated and Ned wrote "I hereby command Eddard of House Stark; titles titles; to serve as Lord Regent and protector of the realm upon my death. To rule in my stead until my son, Joffrey, comes of age,"

Here, Ned faltered. He couldn't write that, for he knew it to be false. But at the same time, he couldn't bear to destroy Robert with this awful truth at his moment of greatest weakness. So he instead wrote the words 'until my true heir comes of age', knowing that the true heir was already a man grown.

"Give it over," Robert signed his name and handed the letter back to Ned "Give it to the council, after I'm dead. At least they'll say I did this right, this one thing. You'll rule now. You'll hate it worse than I did," he laughed, repeated his words from that day in Ned's room before he left for the hunt "But you'll do it well. The girl; Danaerys. You were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother all worthless; no one to tell me no but you and Lannister. Let her live. Stop it if it's not too late,"

"I will," Ned promised sincerely

"My son; help him Ned. Make him better than me,"

"I'll...I'll do everything I can to honor your memory,"

Robert laughed weakly again "My memory? King Robert Baratheon, murdered by a pig! Give me something for the pain, and let me die,"

 **WILLIAM  
**

 **The Red Keep**

If he'd been told several years ago that he would end up as what was effectively second in command to the heir of Casterly Rock, William would have claimed that whoever told him was touched in the head. And if he'd been told that his closest (and really, first) friend would one day be Harold Fucking Lannister, he'd likely have gutted the person who told him so. At one point he couldn't stand the blonde. He'd seen him as an arrogant bastard (both literal and not), though that opinion was likely helped along by them sharing an infatuation on the same girl (long gotten over by both of them). When the rivalry had culminated in a fist fight in the middle of the Red Keep Harry's willingness to sink to the level of a common brawler had helped knock the image of an arrogant nobleman Will had affixed to the the other boy, while Will's surprising maneuverability and his use of it to hold his own had probably helped get rid of the little boy he'd been in Harry's eyes prior to that.

It had been an interesting fight, Will admitted looking back. Harry was much bigger and stronger, being four years senior, but Will was able to dodge most punches and land his own. The problem was, Will wasn't great with physical strength and his hits barely affected Harry. By contrast, any hits Harry actually landed had been very painful to the younger boy.

Regardless of their rocky start, Will now couldn't imagine him and Harry ever being anything but friends. So when Harry had given him fifty of his own men to command, and asked him to watch out for six different people in the city; a tough enough job anyway even before factoring that those six people were Tommen, Myrcella, King Robert, Lord Stark and his daughters; Will had promised himself that he would prove his friends trust well placed. To that end, after Grand Maester Pycelle had entered King Robert's chamber to give him Milk of the Poppy, Will silently slipped into the room behind him.

He waited silently in the shadows as the pain killer was given to the coughing King. But when Pycelle went to give the large man a second potion, Will made sure that the chilling sound of steel being unsheathed was drawn out as he slowly pulled his curved hunting knife out of it's resting place on the back of his belt. By the way Pycelle stiffened and ceased in his movements, Will concluded that he'd had the desired effect. The decrepit old man slowly shuffled around so that he could see behind him. His eyes widened when he saw Will standing there, knife drawn and face blank.

"What are you doing with that vial, old man?" Will asked, his voice as toneless as his words were blunt.

Pycelle stuttered and stammered "I-I-I it is an ex-extra substance to, ah, to help with, uh, w-with his grace's pain; it will, uh, h-help him sle-sleep more c-calmly" he mumbled nervously.

Will pursed his lips and nodded, allowing an amicable smile to grow on his face. Pycelle grew a little less nervous at seeing the pleasant expression. The nervousness returned in full when Will suddenly swung his left hand and snatched the vial out of Pycelle's grasp and in the same motion grabbed Pycelle by the shoulder and slammed him against the wall, his right hand (and knife) coming up to rest against the Maester's throat.

"Do you take me for some fool?" Will snarled, pleasantness gone "I survived in the wild. I'm more at home there than I am in a castle and you thought I wouldn't recognize a substance that uses one of the deadliest flowers in the world as it's key ingredient?" as if to prove a point, Will uncorked the vial and smelt it "Nightshade," he whispered.

"M-m-my Lord, I-I protest this-this outrage..."

"You claim to serve the Lannister's do you not?" Will cut in sharply

"I...I h-have always served the Lannister's, only the," Will pressed the razor sharp blade right against the skin. Pycelle whimpered.

"And if Lord Tywin's grandson and heir said one thing, while the Queen-Mother, Tywin's daughter, said something else who then would you follow?"

Pycelle started stammering again, edging around the question. Will rolled his eyes and pressed harder still, this time breaking the skin and causing a drop of blood to run down the blade. At this point, so much as shaking his head would likely open Pycelle's throat. Will was in luck though. The spilling of blood was enough to push Pycelle to the right answer.

"Lord Harold! I would serve Lord Harold," he nearly sobbed

"Right answer," Will told him and then asked "How much longer than expected can you keep the King alive for?"

"T-two d-d-days; p-perhaps m-more,"

"Do it. And if I so much as suspect he died of anything that was not natural causes I will find you. I will hunt you down and I will make sure you now how a Eunuch feels before I choke you with your own parts, do you understand?"

"Good," Will released him, and the man nearly fell to the floor "Glad we could come to an agreement,"

He left quickly out of that, though not before extracting a sworn vow out of the man to never tell anybody about their conversation and informing the avaricious old skeleton that he would be watched very closely from then on. Pycelle seemed to deflate at that knowledge. Will didn't think the Grand Maester would cause any trouble from then on. Once he was safely out of sight, a few corridor's away, Will stopped in a small alcove and was nearly sick. He drew shaky uneven breathes, felt tears in his eyes and noticed his hands were shaking. He'd held it together when he needed to, but now...he'd never done anything like that before and never wanted to again. Threatening an old man? A treacherous, disloyal, old man to be sure but old and weak and defenseless none the less.

He thought he was alone. He was wrong.

"Will? Are you okay?"

The archer looked up and saw a blonde haired, green eyed boy looking right at him, looking concerned. Tommen. His eyes were red rimmed and there were dried tear tracks on his face. _Of course; his father,_ he thought and then mentally snorted _His father is dying and he asks how_ I _am?_ Will had been right all along: Tommen was too good for him. Regardless of Harry's declarations that it was 'cute' (followed shortly by a very discomforting 'if you hurt him' speech) Will had known from the first moment he met Tommen that the boy deserved far better than some runaway hunter, fifth-born child to a house that had lost all it's power and standing with the Targaryen's.

"I'm fine," he reassured his friend. Tommen clearly didn't believe him if the dubious look he was receiving were to go by "It's just...just been a long day,"

Tommen nodded and placed a comforting hand on Will's shoulder, a gesture that was returned by the hunter. Tommen gave him a sweet smile, eyes bright and full of affection and Will's stomach flipped. His guilt gnawed at him, though, reminding him about how much of a monster he was and that he didn't deserve Tommen; sweet, kind, innocent Tommen.

Their moment was interrupted though.

"Lord Stark; a moment? Alone if you will," they heard from around the corner. Will recognized Lord Renly's voice.

"He named you protector of the realm," they heard a moment later.

"He did," Will was pleasantly surprised by that.

"She won't care," Renly's voice was cold and blunt "Give me an hour and I can put a hundred swords at your command,"

Tommen frowned heavily at that, trying to understand what his uncle was talking about. Will quickly put the pieces together though. Renly was talking about staging a coup. The next part of the exchange confirmed it in a way that even Tommen grasped without trouble.

"And what would I do with a hundred swords?" Stark questioned.

"Strike. Tonight, while the castle sleeps," Tommen nearly gasped, but Will clamped his mouth at the last moment "We must get Joffrey away from his mother and into our custody. Protector of the Realm or no, he who holds the King holds the kingdom. Every moment you delay is another moment for Cersei to prepare. By the time Robert dies it will be too late for the both of us,"

"What about Stannis?"

"Saving the Seven Kingdoms from Cersei and delivering them to Stannis," Will could hear the amusement leaking from Renly's voice. But he was confused about why they completely skipped over Tommen. Myrcella he could understand, whether she came before Stannis was debatable but Tommen..."You have odd notions about protecting the realm,"

"Stannis is your older brother,"

"This isn't about the bloody line of succession! That didn't matter when you rebelled against the Mad King, it shouldn't matter now. What's best for the Kingdoms? What's best for the people we rule? We all know what Stannis is; he inspires no love or loyalty. He's not a King. I am,"

"Stannis is a commander. He's led forces into battle, he destroyed the Greyjoy fleet,"

"Yes he's a good soldier. Everyone knows that. So was Robert. Tell me something; do you still believe good soldiers make good Kings?

"I will not dishonor Robert's final hours by spilling blood in his halls, and dragging frightened children from their beds,"

When they heard the two men leave, Tommen looked at Will in shock and fear. Impulsively, Will pulled Tommen into an embrace, feeling his form shake ever so slightly. He shouldn't have done it. Princes don't hug hunters who spend more time in the wild than they did in civilization.

"He...Renly, my uncle, he was talking about...he wanted to..."

"Tommen, look at me," he did "I swear on all the gods; I will not let anyone harm you. I will die before I let you be harmed, even if it's the stranger himself. I promise,"

 **NED**

 **The Throne Room**

 **1 Week Later**

His cane thumped heavily as he made his way towards the Iron Throne. Littlefinger and Varys walked behind him along with the seventeen guardsmen he still had with him. Ten had began the journey North with Sansa and Arya several days before accompanied by Syrio Forel and Septa Mordane, as well as Sansa's friend Jeyne Poole. The City Watch was with him too. They commanded 3000 men and looked to have at least a score here in the Red Keep. The assistance of the Gold Cloaks was the result of an unpleasant conversation he'd had with Littlefinger several days before. He'd hoped he would also be able to rely on the fifty White Lions who most likely would have been able to handle the hundred men-at-arms Cersei had available with ease. Those hopes had been dashed by a raven from the west. Ser Harold Lannister had commanded Buckwell to cease his assistance to Ned. He supposed he couldn't blame the boy; he couldn't ask a sixteen year old to fight against his own family. And it could have been worse. While Buckwell couldn't give him support he had also refrained from pitting the White Lions against the Stark's.

Renly was another annoyance. He had fled the city only the night before. It was a pity. He could have used a hundred swords by now.

Up ahead the Throne loomed. Joffrey sat upon it, looking like he thought the rest of the world was beneath him just because he could sit on an ugly chair. The vulnerable boy from Roberts bedside was gone. Six members of the Kingsguard stood at the foot of the dais, while a far too smug Queen sat on a smaller, more elegant chair just beside the Throne. The entire dais was line with Lannister soldiers, including the fearsome Sandor Clegane.

"I wish for my councilors to make all the arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned withing a fortnight. Today, I will accept oaths of fealty from my loyal council members," the boy king announced.

Ned was silent for a moment "Ser Barristan," he said at last "I believe no man here could doubt your honor," and with that he handed the white knight Robert's will.

"King Robert's seal," Joffrey looked faintly surprised "unbroken. Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm. To rule as regent until the heir come of age,"

"May I see that letter Ser Barristan," Cersei said, standing. Barristan handed it over, loyal as he ever was. The Queen smirked as she read it, and then tore it up even as she said "Is this meant to be your shield Lord Stark? A piece of paper?"

Barristan was shocked. So were several others, but none so openly as him "Those were the King's words,"

"We have a new King now," the old Kingsguard looked unsure and conflicted "Lord Eddard when we last spoke you offered me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy: bend the knee, my Lord. Bend the knee and swear loyalty to my son. And we shall allow you to live out your days in the grey waste you call home,"

Ned had really wished to avoid this until he was instated as Protector of the Realm and Stannis had arrived, but it seemed the Queen had forced his hand "Your son has no claim to the Throne," he announced.

"LIAR!" Joffrey practically screeched.

"You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark. Ser Barristan; seize this traitor," Despite looking decidedly uncomfortable he moved to do as commanded. Ned's own men unsheathed their blades and stepped forward to defend him.

"Ser Barristan is a good man alone, men, do him no harm," Ned instructed, despite knowing that Barristan could have carved through his guards like they were nothing if he so wished.

"You think he stands alone?" The Hound drew his massive greatsword.

"Kill him! KILL ALL OF THEM, I command it!" Joffrey yelled furiously. Ned wondered, looking at him now, if that was the way the Mad King had started. Was Joffrey better, or worse?

"Commander," Ned addressed Slynt "Escort the Queen and her children back to the royal apartment and keep them there under guard,"

"Men of the Watch!" Slynt commanded, and the assembled Gold Cloaks dropped their spears into a ready stance

Ned pleaded with Cersei "I want no bloodshed. Tell your men to lay down their swords, no one needs to die,"

"NOW!" Ned heard Slynt scream and to his horror, the Gold Cloaks turned and drove their spears through his men's turned backs. Some managed to dodge the surprise attack only to be ruthlessly cut down by either the Hound or one of the Kingsguard; either Oakheart, Greenfield or Moore. Ser Barristan, Ned noticed was not engaged in the fight, rather he was standing back uncertainly. Ned reached for his sword and grasped the hilt, ready to join the fray and die fighting with his men. Before he could draw the broadsword however, he felt a dagger press against his throat.

"I did warn you not to trust me," Littlefinger's serpentine voice said from behind him.

Ned's eyes closed in resignation.

* * *

 **And that's a wrap for this chapter. For those who wanted things to change, there you go things have changed if you can spot them. The obvious one is that because Robert survived longer (thanks to Will and Harry) Ned's plan to remove Sansa and Arya from Kings Landing worked. How that goes for them you'll have to wait and see.**

 **Second is more ambiguous: In canon, Robb's army was smaller than it could have been because of time constraints. Now though, he's been assembling since before news of his fathers arrest came in.**

 **Er, if anyone had a problem with Harry's reasoning and decisions it's probably because I didn't explain it right and I'll clarify at the beginning of next chapter. I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter but it's good enough to put up and I can always edit later.**

 **Waberjack: awesome name. Harry's magic will not really be HP magic though there may be some similarities. I will say that Harry's blood has something to do with his power.**

 **Guest: what self insert?**

 **exillion: okay each to their own but out of curiosity, what muggle history could he draw upon considering he hasn't been to muggle school since he was ten. Magic will develop as the story does.**

 **Guest: yes Harry would rather keep Gregor (previously that is, don't think his opinion would be the same after this chapter). What Kingdoms? cause, before the WO5K only Dorne had a problem with Gregor.**

 **dandraft15: leave homophobia at the door, please. Honestly that's one of the few things I absolutely loathe. So leave any homophobia out of your reviews or don't review at all.**

 **Ser Dindan: yeah I probably should have developed their reasoning a bit more. It's something I can include in the future I suppose, maybe make it seem a bit less unbelievable?**

 **Yet another Guest: I will increase the rating soon. If I've not already done so- I can't really remember (oops?)**

 **Fireking500: Harry keeps the cloak on him and it will come into a lot more importance later on.**

 **coldblue: 1) Maybe 2)It has an element of that, though not quite what you guessed at 3)Martell-yes; Tyrell- That's a little trickier, as you'll come to find out 4) He will be a key figure in ending the war 5)Eventually. You will never guess what it is though ;)**

 **Nooneinparticluar: Each to their own. I do thank you for the compliments on my writing (plot, pace etc). I can promise it will pick up and will branch further and further away from the plot, but if it's not for you then fair enough.**

 **Aegorm: Maybe. I thought it was necessary but maybe I was wrong. I appreciate you saying that the story has positive qualities though.**

 **seagate: clarification: Harry hates harming children. It's the only thing he can't justify or do; side effect of upbringing.**

 **To everyone else: I'm glad you're enjoying it (if you are) and thank you for the reviews.**

 **I reckon' that everything. So, er cya next time; when the War of Five Kings breaks out in earnest. Yozza Out!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Finally back to the story! Sorry it took so long. Lost my motivation as a result of a fair amount of flames. Only convinced myself to continue this about a week ago. But from now on, any reviews that are nothing but flame will be reported. I don't mind constructive criticism, if anyone has any suggestions as to how to improve my writing and the story then I'll gladly take it on board. But if you're just going to say it's a pile of shit then don't bother reviewing and just go read something else.**

 **Sorry, rant over.**

 **Now, I got a lot of reviews about various parts of the last chapter like how Harry didn't stand up to Gregor, followed Tywin's orders, stopped helping Ned, and once again, the lack of changes from canon. Some of these will be answered within the chapter and I'll address most reviews at the end but for now I'll answer some common questions about last chapter/**

 **The Mountain: Harry isn't a coward and he most definitely did not like not being able to help those people. But Gregor was acting on Tywin's orders, which supersede Harry's so ordering him to stop won't work, and there is no way for Harry to go head to head with the Mountain. Clegane has over a hundred men, armed and ready for a fight. Harry has half of that at most and was not prepared for battle. Not to mention, the Mountain himself is someone Harry couldn't beat at this stage. Even when in his prime and (spoilers) with two hands, Jaime states he'd be hesitant to fight the Mountain, and that version of Jaime is still miles better than Harry.**

 **Tywin's orders: Harry sent word to Will to stop helping Ned. But do you all really think that becoming allies with Ned is Harry's only plan? Of course not. He has contingencies upon contingencies. He's not stopping his plans to neutralize and control Joffrey, he's just being forced to be more subtle now. If Tywin found out that Harry was continuing to act against the family while they were at war, at best Harry would lose his funding. Furthermore, even though Harry would like to have the Kingdom united behind him so as to protect the people from Joffrey, if it comes to the point where he can only get either the Starks or the Lannisters then he's going to pick the Lannister's, his family.**

 **Harry's power: Harry has only recently been made Tywin's official heir. He was a bastard prior to chapter 4, meaning that until his appointment to the Small Council and his legitimization, Harry had very limited influence; more than Tyrion but not as much as Cersei or maybe even Kevan. So, for now, all he has are spies and allies/friends.**

 **Changes from canon: Though it may not seem like it, Harry is making changes as will become apparent in this chapter. As the story progresses more and more will change. You'll just have to patient. For those of you who prefer immediate deviations from canon rather than the gradual pace I'm using then I recommend 'Hadrian Lannister, Lion of the Rock'. It has a similar premise to mine (though I had no clue of it's existence until a reviewer mentioned it) and I've enjoyed reading it, but the changes are much more apparent and decisive from the beginning.**

 **Harry's motivations and aims: Simple enough really. Protect his family, protect the smallfolk, prevent Joffrey from screwing the realm up too badly. In that order.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.**

* * *

Chapter 5

 **HARRY**

 **The Riverlands**

The intial invasion was met with a stunning amount of success. Despite the forewarning Harry had no doubt they'd received from Eddard Stark, the Riverlords had only managed to mount a pitiful defense against the armies of the Westerlands. His father's force of twenty thousand men had marched through the Golden Pass and met a small force of only two or three thousand men at the mouth of the pass, led by Lord's Vance and Piper, the former of whom had; reportedly; been killed in the fighting. The much larger and better equipped Lannister force had overwhelmed the Riverlords using nothing but brute force to break the center line and send the border guards scarpering back to Riverrun in a chaotic and frenzied retreat. Of the two thousand that lay dead in the pass that day, only about a quarter had been their own Westermen, though in Harry's mind he considered his father extraordinarily lucky that he hadn't lost more with his reckless and brash frontal assault, even if it was against a significantly smaller force. The raven his father had sent him and Lord Tywin from the now occupied Wayfarers Rest reported that he was advancing on Riverrun with all haste, though it seemed there were raiding forces playing havoc with their supply lines.

While Harry's father marched on Riverrun, Harry and his grandfather had taken the larger host; some twenty-five thousand men, of which perhaps eight thousand were mounted; around the mountains to the south, passing by Silverhill to cross the Blackwater at the Mummer's ford, where they had ambushed Beric Dondarion and his men. Gregor Clegane had himself driven a lance through the Lightning Lord's chest, killing him instantly, while Harry himself had found himself fighting Raymun Darry. It had been a decent fight; the other man had provided something of a challenge before falling on the end of Harry's blade. After crossing the river the army had marched north a little and quickly discovered why Jaime had suffered such little resistance. It seemed that Edmure Tully, for Harry refused to believe that the legendary Blackfish or the veteran Hoster Tully could make such a mess of a defense, had decided to split his army up into small forces along the border of his lands in a vain attempt to protect everything at once. Harry found he could respect the intention. It was a noble thing to try and save the smallfolk, and Harry had been working to try and minimize the loss of innocent life since the first day of the march, though at that point he hadn't had much luck. The problem was that by splitting his forces so much, Tully had doomed them to failure and the smallfolk were in as much danger now as they would have been if the Riverlords had gathered into a single force.

The first of these forces were smashed and routed without even half a hundred losses to the Lannister forces, allowing them a straight path to the Stoney Sept and it's accompanying town. The Grey's had surrendered the minute the Lannister banners appeared on the horizon, opening the gates of their town without a fight, and the Sept itself offered no resistance. Thankfully, Harry himself had been in charge of negotiating their surrender and had thus been able to prevent the sacking of the town or the looting of the Sept by some of the more unsavory members of his force.

The castle of Pinkmaiden was not so lucky. While Lord Tywin led the bulk of the army in a North-East direction, seeming to head straight to Harrenhal, the Lord of Casterly Rock had taken to dispatching his most capable and most trusted commanders to capture the castles and settlements that did not lie in his direct path and to destroy the scattered Riverlords piecemeal. Already Addam Marbrand had succeeded in taking Stone Hedge, the seat of House Bracken, while Tywin himself had defeated the Blanetree's of High Heart. The only other son of Lord Tytos that remained alive, Ser Kevan had led the bulk of their cavalry in riding down the weak Riverlords and their small contingents of men before briefly sieging and taking Acorn Hall without much issue, and Atranta had been taken by Tytos Brax. The Mountain was the one who'd been entrusted with the task of capturing Pinkmaiden, and so he had done. He'd burned them out of the castle by putting their fields and livestock to the torch and setting the thatched roofs on fire. Upon surrender, Lewys Piper's head had been placed upon a pike that Dunsen still carried even a week later. The lad's head had been dipped in tar so as to preserve it, and was nearly unrecognizable. But the second son of Lord Clement had been well liked, and the sight of his fate struck up both fear and rage in the smallfolk they passed. Harry took some comfort in the fact that after the fiasco at Pinkmaiden he'd at least managed to convince his grandfather that unleashing Gregor on the countryside would be less than beneficial to their cause.

After utterly annihilating the small border forces that Ser Edmure had set up, the Lannister forces had regrouped to the west of Harrenhal. The castle was easily the most impressive Harry had ever seen, despite it's ruined condition. The castle had been constructed by Harren the Black, the King of Salt and Rock during Aegon's conquest, and had taken forty years and thousands of slave lives to build. Harren had wanted it to be the greatest castle in the known world and indeed it was. Five towers rose into the clouds and peaked at dizzying heights, being as sheer and as tall as any cliff face Harry had ever seen, though only the upper third of any tower bar the largest could be seen from the ground due, the rest being blocked from view by the equally monstrously sized walls, at least twice as thick or tall as any other. The largest of Harrenhal's five gatehouse's was nearly as large as the Red Keep, the scorpions that sat atop the battlement's seemed as small as their namesake from Harry's position on the ground and making out men on the walls was a fool's task. Unfortunately, for all it's grandeur, Harrenhal had fallen not a year after it's completion; the tallest towers and walls in the world couldn't stop a dragon. Harren and all his sons had burned and now, despite the incredible size of the buildings, every inch of the castle was blackened, half melted and bent out of shape.

Since then, every house to hold Harrenhal since Harren had died of after only a few generations. Harren himself was the first, and House Hoare were bathed in dragonfire nearly three hundred years ago. Harrenhal had been granted to House Qoherys after that, the first Lord being Aegon Targaryen's one time Master at Arms, only for the line to be extinguished by Harren the Red thirty years later. House Harroway were appointed and executed as Lords of Harrenhal during the reign of Maegor the Cruel, and were followed by House Towers, House Strong and House Lothson all of whom met grisly fate's. Currently, House Whent were the Lord's of the mighty castle, and had been for three generations. By now, only the childless Lady Shella was left alive, all of her other kin wiped out, bar her cousin's children with Lord Hoster Tully. The rumor was that a curse lay over Harrenhal, that destroyed any family who held it. Some smallfolk even said that Harren ghost still walked the halls at night in order to seek revenge on those who sought to claim his castle.

Harry prided himself on not being overly superstitious. But he knew for a fact that magic still existed in this world however small an amount it may be, and it most certainly had existed during the War of Conquest and rather strongly too. To Harry's eyes, the curse that plagues the rulers of Harrenhal for three centuries seemed an awful lot like the curse that Voldemort had placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. It was something he'd have to look into if and when he got his magic back.

Pushing thoughts of curses and long extinct families far from his mind for the time being, Harry brought his focus back to the meeting that was going on around him. The army had come to a halt some dozen miles from Harrenhal and set up camp. Harry knew that his grandfather had been planning on Lady Whent yielding the castle to them upon seeing their approach. It was well known that Harrenhal was near impossible to defend. It was simply too vast and no garrison could cover all of the possible entry ways. As it turned out though, sixty-five hundred men were enough to make Lady Whent fancy her chances at holding out against them. From what Harry could tell, the Whent forces had taken too long to gather and hadn't been able to march until the Lannister forces were already storming through the Riverlands. Instead of trying to face them in the field, they'd gathered their crops in to fill the stores and sealed themselves inside the fortress, leaving acres of empty and muddy land as far as the eye could see. Having examined the banner's with a Myrish lens; which worked rather like a telescope; Harry could tell that the Darry, Mooton, Cox and Roote forces had joined the defenders.

It was clear to see that being wrong in his assessment of the situation was grating on his grandfather's nerves. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he gazed across the map of Westeros that lay open on the table, and his teeth were grinding in an eerily Stannis Baratheon fashion. Harry was suppressing the urge to sneer and grind his own teeth into stubs as he listened to the inane babbling of some of his grandfather's bannermen.

"Could we take the castle by storm?" the bald and red faced Harys Swyft asked, his small, beard covered chin wobbled obscenely. Swyft annoyed Harry more than any other bannerman did. He had a habit of stating the obvious and he was something of a coward. He was the head of a minor knightly house that was destitute and broke as result of Harys' excessive borrowing from Tytos Lannister. He was only present on the war council because of his daughter's marriage to Ser Kevan; house Swyft's one success.

"We could, but we'd lose precious time and men to do it," Kevan answered his good-father "And a siege would take too long. Now that Eddard Stark has been arrested the North will be marching south will all haste to free their beloved Lord. Already we have reports of a host gathering at Moat Cailin,"

Harry did grind his teeth at the mention of Eddard Stark. Word had reached them shortly after the Stoney Sept that the Lord of Winterfell had, after the death of King Robert, tried to claim the throne for himself and had summarily been arrested and confined to the Black Cells for treason. Barely suppressing a wince, Harry forced the feeling of guilt he had over that situation away. He wished he could have continued to aid Lord Stark, but had he done so his grandfather would have found out. While Harry was not afraid to disobey Tywin; despite how intimidating he found the man; he needed the funding the man gave him monthly to fund his other scheme's. Despite a personal respect for the man, and the advantages of allying with the North, Harry considered two years worth of plans and scheme's to be of more importance. Cutting ties with Eddard Stark was necessary to ensure the continued success of his other projects.

Harry stamped down on the twisting feeling in his gut even as he thought this.

"And if the Vale marches to the aid of their kin then we find ourselves out numbered and outflanked," Harry continued, speaking for the first time in that meeting "Time is not on our side and we cannot afford to get bogged down in a long siege. We have to take the castle either by negotiation or by force and the latter would have too great a cost"

"Lady Whent is cousin to Lord Hoster's late wife. Do you believe she would open the gates to us, when she has the means to give us a costly fight?" Lord Leo Lefford questioned, who had been in charge of supplies and provisions on their march.

"No, I don't," Harry answered shortly, his voice terse with frustration and a frown on his face.

It was the copper haired Lord Marbrand who spoke next. The man was young, only a year or two younger than Harry's own father and had been a page at Casterly Rock in his youth, during which time he'd become close friends with a young Jaime Lannister. The heir of Ashenmark was a capable if not talented commander and was well like by both Harry and his grandfather, though at times he was a little too aggressive "Then an attack is our only option," he declared "We cannot allow the Vale or the North to find us caught in a long siege and we cannot negotiate a surrender. We have but one option,"

"Our losses may not be too excessive," the Strongboar grunted and banged his horn of ale on the table "These Riverlords seem soft to me. I wager we'd kill ten of them for every one of our own we lose!"

"Assaulting Harrenhal is near impossible," Tytos Brax argued back "We can send a small force to the Ruby Ford and have them alert us should the North or the Vale approach while we starve the Whent's out,"

"And if the North and Vale march together?" Kevan inquired "We need the advantage of a crossing if that happens. Besides, the Whent's have enough food stored for two years. We don't have two years,"

On and on it went; the various Lords sent arguments back and forth between each other for nearly an hour, speaking in favor of one idea or another. The arguments and opinions went round in circle's mostly, and Harry himself fell back into silence early on. The meeting continued in the same vein until the sun outside has set and the torches had been lit around the camp. It was then that Tywin spoke.

"Leave us," he said. It wasn't a shout; his voice didn't rise in the slightest; but it somehow echoes around the grand pavilion they were seated in, carrying easily over the voices of the other men in the room "Kevan, Harry; stay,"

Almost as one, the Lords stood and made their way out, splintering off in many different directions and making their way back to their own tents and pavilion's. The three Lannister's sat in silence for a moment. Harry studied the map absently. Small wolf heads sat atop Moat Cailin while red Lion statues surrounded Harrenhal and Riverrun. _What will he decide?_ Harry wondered, gazing thoughtfully at his grandfather _A siege we don't have time for or an assault we don't have the men for?_ Both had their advantages and disadvantages. Both would cost them something they couldn't afford.

"We will march to the Ruby Ford in two weeks time," Harry blinked once and then shook his head, unable to believe what he'd just heard. Kevan seemed to be having the same problem, his mouth was gaping a little and his eyes fixed on Tywin as though is wits were addled. Marching on the Ruby Ford meant abandoning Harrenhal "You were both correct. We don't have the time to waste of sieging a burnt out husk of a fortress nor the men to take it. We can't face both the Vale and the North without holding either the high ground or a crossing. So we will march on the Ruby Ford and deny them crossing at the Trident,"

"Grandfather, if we leave march to the ford, then we will Harrenhal undefended. What would stop the forces inside from marching against us while our backs are turned and we're fighting the Arryn's and Stark's?"

Tywin turned a set of cold emotionless eyes on him "Nothing. But we need not worry about the Whent's. You will command a force of five thousand men and position yourselves on a hill to the east of Harrenhal. Should the Whent's try and march their force against us, then you are to stop them by any means necessary.

"Putting Uncle Kevan to the east leaves the West open for the Whent's to march to Riverrun," Harry pointed out

"Word will be sent to Jaime; we will warn him to be cautious about an attack from the east; but they will not march against him. If they do, Kevan will be able to take Harrenhal and their efforts in denying us will have been for naught. We will also sow distention in their ranks. Harry you will march and capture Darry, I will force the Roote's into submission and I will send Ser Andar Serrett to take Maidenpool," Tywin smiled then, something he rarely did. It was a cold, sinister smile and Harry had no trouble imagining a young Tywin Lannister wearing the same smirk as he ordered the Reyne mines be flooded.

The next day, Harry found himself leading a force of heavy horse, numbering fifteen hundred in total, towards Castle Darry. Dawn had broken less than an hour ago, but his White Lions were as efficient as always and were ready to ride barely any time after the order had been given. His men and Lord Serrett's had woken at first light to get a head start on the rest of the army, who would march in a few hours. It had been decided that Ser Kevan's force would be three fifth's pikemen, a tenth longbowmen and an equal number men at arms. The remaining thousand men would be an uneven mix of dismounted sellswords and knights. Lord Lewys Lydden had been dispatched to find a suitable location to hold against a Whent attach and reported back that thirteen miles north and seven miles east of Harrenhal lay a set of hills. Heavy rainfall had turned the base of the hills to mud, which would negate any cavalry the Harrenhal force had and archers firing uphill would be arduous at best and inefficient at worst.

Harry saw those same hills as he rode for Darry. Assessing them quickly, and admittedly from a distance, he confirmed Lydden's report. It would make a good defensive location and was close enough to Harrenhal to force a confrontation between any eastward marching Riverlands force and his great uncles rearguard. Not long after they reached the Kingsroad. Serrett force; the same composition as his own; broke off from them there, heading south a while before turning east to Maidenpool. Harry instead marched directly east and within less than a week had reached Castle Darry. It had clearly once been a prominent castle in the region. It's walls and towers, though no where near the immense size of Harrenhal's, were certainly larger than the average castle though they were now clearly in disrepair. The Darry's had been a prominent house until they decided to support Aerys II instead of their liege Lord during Robert's Rebellion and had paid the price for it. Much of their lands, wealth and power had been stripped from them.

The castle was barely garrisoned. The sum of the defense Little Lord Lyman Darry had mounted was sixty guardsmen; half of whom were young, green recruits and the remainder mostly old veterans; and a dozen archers. The nine year old stood on the battlements with his Master at Arms as Harry rode up to the sealed gates, accompanied only by Ser Lyman Jast, under a white banner. If possible, Harry would like to take the castle without a fight, though seeing the conviction of the child's face, Harry imagined he would sooner gouge his own eyes out than open his gates to a Lannister. Or perhaps more appropriately, he'd sooner gouge Harry's eyes out.

Stopping his horse a few feet from the gate, Harry squinted up at the boy "Lord Darry," he said cordially

"Lannister," he spat back

Sighing, Harry made a show of glancing along the walls, taking in the arms and armour and physical condition of the men Darry had under his command "You are vastly outnumbered, my Lord. No way of escape and no way of defeating us. Your only chance of surviving this day is to open your gates, bend the knee and recall your forces from Harrenhal. I give you my word they will be allowed to return unharmed,"

"What worth does the word of a Lannister have? No. I will not abandon my liege lord and I will not sit and smile with my father's killers," Darry declared "No Lannister will ever set foot inside Darry as long as I am it's Lord!"

Harry pursed his lips "So be it," and wheeled his horse around, before riding back to his arrayed men. Some four hundred men had dismounted, half of which were currently standing in two long lines and stringing composite bows. While the standard tool for archers in Westeros was either a longbow or crossbow, there were composite bows available for those soldiers who were not full time archers, like Harry's men. The other two hundred dismounted men were preparing shields, mace's, swords and axes. They'd use their shields to block arrow fire as they moved the ram up to bring down the gate.

Bringing his horse to a stop at the head of his cavalry, he turned to the man he'd chosen to lead the foot, some second son from House Yew, and gave the order "Bring it down,"

"Yes my Lord," he replied "MEN! BRING UP THE RAM!" the men at arms hastened to do as commanded and withing seconds the ram had been carried to the front and his infantry were surrounding it with their shields, forming a near impervious barrier against projectiles "ADVANCE!"

The ram made slow progress, slow progress that was almost painful to watch but Harry knew that moving any faster could result in death for a number of his men. After minutes of advancing at a snail's pace, the ram came into range of Darry's crossbowmen. When the first quarrel hit the raised shield of one of the younger men, he started badly. He raised his shield higher in response to his fear and that fear cost him. A second bolt made it's way through the gap in the shield wall and buried itself in his throat. The lad fell to the floor, gargling his own blood and being trampled by his comrades as they continued advancing. More bolts lodged in the shields, though the death of one of their own seemed to be enough to encourage them to keep their shields in position.

The ram was still about fifteen meters from the gate and being slowed considerably by the constant pelting of crossbow bolts, and as another men fell to the floor with a bolt through his heel only to be feathered with three more striking his chest, Harry felt some annoyance begin to grow.

"Archers, fire at will!" he ordered, and the men began notching their arrows "Shoot those crossbows off the wall, but don't hit Darry. I want him alive,"

His archers advanced just enough that the enemy was in range; thankfully, still outside the range of the Darry crossbows; and began sending arrows back at the enemy. Though most fell short and either hit the ground or bounced off the stone of the castle walls, some found their mark and Harry saw Darry crossbowmen falling either forwards or backwards from the battlements. Whether the arrow wounded or killed them, Harry had the feeling that they were almost certainly dead by the time they hit the ground. Not long after the ram reached the gates and within moments, the gate was brought down, the small force of infantry he'd sent beginning to clash with the Darry guards.

Pulling on his helm, Harry began to urge his horse forwards "Cavalry! With me!"

At the sound of a thousand heavily armoured war horse's charging their way, the 200 dismounted men Harry had sent forward to open the way retreated out the gate and moved to the side in an effort to avoid being trampled, just as Harry had ordered. The Darry's at first tried to pursue, before realizing just why the infantry had retreated. By the time their eyes had widened and they began to try and move backwards, though, it was too late and Harry's lances crashed into the Darry guards, killing many by running them through and even more when the horse itself crashed into them. The fight was brief and over with a few minutes. Darry's guards were almost entirely wiped out. Just under twenty survived long enough to lay down their arms. Harry had made use of the Lord's seat in the Great Hall, and it was there that Lyman Darry was brought before him, bound in heavy chains that made Harry frown disapprovingly at the soldier that had brought him forward.

"Lord Lyman, you told me not moments ago that no Lannister would step foot inside Darry while you lived," Harry mocked "Well here I stand and you yet live,"

"I wouldn't if your men wouldn't have denied me death in battle," Darry snapped

Harry would have laughed incredulously at the idea of the boy, who was a little shorter than his age would suggest, being involved in a battle if not for the blood that soaked his clothes and the incredibly small chain shirt he was wearing. It was smaller than most Harry had seen and probably made specifically to fit the young lord. He certainly didn't lack courage.

Standing, Harry addressed the guard standing next to the boy "Release Lord Darry from his chains. He's a highborn ward, not a common criminal. He'll be treated accordingly,"

When the chains fell from his wrist's, Lyman stared at Harry for a moment "You should kill me now, Lannister, not mock me with mercy. Your weakness might haunt you one day,"

"Perhaps," Harry nodded "But not today. Ser Lyman, have the horses fed and select fifty men to garrison the castle. We leave to join my grandfather in the morn. Lord Lyman will be joining me as a second squire,"

Harry grinned at the outraged look on Darry's face.

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 **ROBB**

 **Moat Cailin**

After marching for nearly three weeks they had finally reached the once great fortress of Moat Cailin and it was at the ruins of the Moat that Robb's armies finally merged together into a single host. The fortress didn't seem to be much to look at, the six and ten (though nearly seven and ten) namedays man knew. Moat Cailin once served as the gate to the North through which no army, convoy or traveler could pass through without leave from the Stark's of old and during those days it had an impressive ring of twenty towers and a great basalt wall that stood as high as that of Winterfell's. However the wooden keep had rotted away to nothing thousands of years ago, and all that remained of the walls and towers were chunks of basalt scattered about the bog. All that remained were three towers. But despite the decrepit appearance of the fortress, Robb knew it was far more formidable than it seemed. Situated in the swampy region of the North known as the Neck, Moat Cailin sat directly over the King's Road; the only passable tract of land; and the three remaining towers commanded the causeway from all sides. The road, at this point, was big enough for two horses abreast and perhaps two or three times that many infantry, all of whom would have to pass between the towers to get into the North. To attack any one tower, the attackers would have to wade through waist deep bog water and cross a moat, all while taking constant arrow fire from the other towers.

 _Father always said that a small force at Moat Cailin could throw back armies many times their size,_ Robb thought. He'd have to make sure the towers were fully manned when he marched south, so that if they failed in bringing the Lannister's to justice the North would remain safe. In eight thousand years, no Andal force had ever managed to capture Moat Cailin from the south.

After his father's raven months before, Robb had immediately sent word to the bannermen to inform them of his father's orders. Ever since, they had been slowly and quietly been calling up their men. The North was a vast and scarcely populated land and it took time for a Lord to gather his levies, and Robb had never appreciated his father's foresight more than when the news of his arrest arrived. After that, the Lords of the North had begun raising their banners in earnest, some leaving barely any to harvest the crops of their lands, though others had sent forces that were notably small; House Dustin came to mind. Most had gathered in Winterfell; such as Glover, Umber, Bolton, Karstark and Cerwyn; with the rest either joining them on the road or at Moat Cailin itself. In total, the North had so far amassed just more than twenty-two thousand men, with the Manderly's being the only major house yet to arrive.

When they'd arrived at Moat Cailin the day before, Robb had taken occupancy of the Gatehouse Tower, the only tower to have some semblance of a wall left attached to it and a large, iron portcullis barring the causeway. The massive GreatJon Umber; who had become Robb's loudest, most vocal and most loyal supporter after Grey Wind, Robb's faithful direwolf companion, had gnawed two of the man's fingers off in response to a threat he made in Winterfell; had decided to use the Children's Tower to the west side of the path as his own seat while Lord Karstark hung his banner from the easternmost Drunkard's Tower, so named due to the fact that it was leaning at a dangerous angle and seemed in constant danger of tumbling down.

As they waited for the arrival of Lord Manderly's men, Robb had called his Lords to the solar of the Lord's chambers in the Gatehouse tower, so as to discuss plans for liberating the Riverlands from Lannister forces, defeating both the Kingslayer and Tywin Lannister before marching on King's Landing to rescue his father. Robb was careful not to let the frustration show on his face and he refrained from sighing. He couldn't afford to show any sort of weakness in front of the dozen men standing in the room with him. All of them were warriors, through and through and all had experienced war and battle before. Twice, in most cases, those being Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion. He wouldn't win them over by showing weakness or doubt. He could double guess himself in private if he so wished, but in front of these men he had to show strength and decisiveness.

GreatJon Umber stood to Robb's right, his frame dwarfing that of all the other men in the room. He stood the better part of a foot taller than the next tallest man in the room and twice as broad. His dark hair and thick, bushy beard was starting to grey but that hardly detracted from the aura of violence and danger that surrounded him like a cloak. Though jovial and jolly, and for the moment content to follow Robb's lead, Robb was not fool enough to forget the fact that he could likely rip his arms of before anyone could stop him, should he be so inclined.

But while the Lord of Last Hearth was easily the most noticeable threat in the room and definitely the loudest, he was not the one Robb had his eyes on the most. Nor did that honour go to the steadfast Glover brothers, the burly Lord Karstark, the tall and commanding presence of Helman Tallhart, the slightly pouched Lord Cerwyn or the outspoken Lord of Hornwood and nor was it the mail clad Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Isle. No; the man Robb was most wary of was Lord Roose Bolton. The Lord of the Dreadfort was a frightening man, Robb had no trouble admitting. He had a quiet voice that captured all attention in a room when he chose to speak and his small, ice blue eyes made Robb somewhat uncomfortable. Though Roose had never given his father any reason to distrust him, Robb found himself unnerved and knew that his father had never really trusted Bolton. After all, the family had been enemies of the Starks for thousands of years, even if there hadn't been any Bolton Rebellions since before the conquest.

Lord Glover was in the middle of reporting on news from the war in the south "Last word we had from the south, the Riverlords at the Golden Tooth had been sent running back towards Riverrun with the Kingslayer at their heels," he said, pointing at the relevant location on the map "Tywin Lannister has another, larger host moving through the Riverlands at great speed, seizing land and scattering your grandfather's bannermen before him,"

"Your information is outdated, Lord Glover" Lord Bolton responded quietly, nearly whispering and Robb, unconsciously, found himself leaning in to hear what he was saying, as did many other Lords. Lord Galbart bristled slightly, but conceded with a nod that his information was nothing new and had been known for little under a week already. Lord Bolton held up a furled letter "My Lord, a raven arrived this morning from Ser Lucas Blackwood at Raventree Hall. Ser Jaime defeated Ser Edmure's host beneath the walls of Riverrun, capturing him and near two dozen other nobles. Tytos Blackwood led the survivors back into the castle and is holding it against siege,"

Robb's jaw tightened at the thought of even more of his family being in the Kingslayer's hands "Very well, then we must..."

"Your pardon, my Lord, but there is more," Bolton interupted softly and with a terse nod Robb motioned for him to continue "Lord Tywin has reached the Ruby Ford with his second host and by all acounts it is even larger than the Kingslayer's. Harrenhal remains untaken but we have received no word from Lady Whent for nigh on two weeks now,"

Lord Tallhart, who had accepted the offered parchment and was quietly reading through it, spoke next "Scouts report that Tywin Lannister has twenty thousand men at the ford, and that the Ser Edmure's losses at Riverrun matched the Lannister's nearly man for man. The Kingslayer's host stands at just over fifteen thousand, split into three camps around Riverrun,"

The GreatJon had perked up the minute Lord Helman at mentioned Tywin's numbers "We have more than twenty thousand men here at Moat Cailin, plus whatever the Manderly's bring us," he boomed excitedly, his eyes lit up with a determined fire "We can march on his army and show them the true meaning of winter!"

"You forget, Lord Umber, that Tywin Lannister holds a river crossing. If we try and attack him on the ford then our superior numbers mean naught but more men for him to slaughter," Robbett Glover interjected.

"Worse, if we march against Lord Tywin then we cannot lift the siege of Riverrun in time," Lord Cerwyn pointed out

"Yet if we cross the trident to save Riverrun, we leave the North open to Tywin Lannister with only Moat Cailin standing in the way," Bolton pointed out.

"So," Robb said, bringing the attention of the bickering Lords back onto him "We have one host besieging my mother's home and another, larger force at the Ruby Ford,"

"One army or two, the King's of Winter threw back hosts ten times this large," GreatJon boasted. Robb doubted that. As impressive and formidable as Moat Cailin once was and as much of a deathtrap to invaders as it still was, he didn't believe it had ever had to face an army of three hundred and seventy thousand as the GreatJon claimed.

As Robb was contemplating the map of the Riverlands and arrayed wooden models of wolves, trouts and lions set up at various points across the map that represented the host's locations, he missed the approach of footsteps outside the room until he heard a very familiar and very welcome voice.

"Robb?" his mother's voice came from behind.

Spinning around, Robb saw that it was indeed Catelyn Stark. His mother seemed aged since he last saw her, only a few moons ago. Her red hair was the same as ever but her shoulders seemed to somehow have even more weight on them than they did when she left Winterfell and her face looked tired and drawn. She was still dressed in a set of rather plain traveling clothes, the hem of which was splattered with mud; clearly, she had come straight here after arriving from White Harbour. He hadn't expected her. He had, of course, received word from his father's friends in the Vale that his mother was leaving the Eyrie for Gulltown, and from there to White Harbor; confirmed in a raven from Catelyn herself, sent by Lord Grafton's maester; but he had thought she would return to Winterfell when she arrived in the North.

Ser Rodrik stood behind her, clad in his leather and fur armour, longsword at his hip and his whiskers tied beneath his chin.

"Mother," he said, slightly shocked.

He noticed her observing him, and he self consciously scratched at the beard he had begun to grow. "You look well," she said simply

"Lady Catelyn, you are a welcomed sight in these troubled times," GreatJon's voice was quieter than Robb had ever known it.

"We had not thought to meet you here, my Lady," Theon said, coming to stand next to him

"I had not thought to be here," she glanced around at the Lords "I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my Lords,"

"You heard her!" GreatJon yelled "Move your asses! You too Greyjoy, are you bloody deaf?"

One by one the Lords left. Lord Galbart, Lady Maege and Lord Helman each offered a gruff but respectful 'My Lady," while Lord Cerwyn managed a deep and polite bow somehow without breaking his pace. Lord Halys Hornwood swept her into a brief and kindly hug, and Robb was reminded that Hornwood was one of his father's closest and most loyal supporters in Roberts Rebellion. He likely knew his mother on her wedding day. Lord Karstark gave a short nod, while Robbett Glover offered her a kind smile and Roose Bolton quietly said "Lady Stark". Theon, reluctantly left last, ushered out by the GreatJon.

Lord Umber was soon the only one left "Have no fear my Lady. We'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's bunghole and then it's on to the Red Keep to free Ned," he chirped, before making his way out, wrapping Rodrik in a one armed hug as he went. Even as the two left, Robb could here them muttering about Rodrik not 'wasting away' and the old days during Robert's Rebellion. As soon as the door clicked closed behind them, Catelyn surged forward and Robb stepped forward to meet her hug. Robb felt gratitude towards her for not doing this when his bannermen were in the room.

"I remember when you came into this world; red faced and squalling," Robb felt the faint stirrings of embarrassment at his mother's words "And now I find you leading a host to war,"

"There was no one else," he told her, somehow already exasperated with her protectiveness when the joy he felt at her presence was still so clearly felt.

"Who were those men, then,"

"None of them are Stark's," _And father would never ask another man to fight when he himself would not. I can't ask that either._

"All of them are seasoned in battle," she argued.

"If you think you can send me back to Winterfell," he began, glaring

"Would that I could," she laughed derisively. Robb nodded. She knew then; she understood that to send him back now would be disastrous when he one day ruled these men. Not that he would go even if she ordered it.

There was silence for a moment.

"Have you heard anything of the girls?" his mother asked, and Robb scowled.

"There was a letter from the Queen," he told her, anger notably evident in his voice as he handed her the parchment "It tells me that father was arrested for treason and that I am ordered to come to King's Landing to swear fealty to Joffrey,"

"There is nothing about Sansa or Arya in here," Catelyn gasped, looking at him with horror filled eyes. Robb nodded gravely. It seemed so unlike the Lannister's that Robb had met in Winterfell not to threaten him or coerce him into doing their bidding through his sister's. For them not to be used as a bargaining chip either meant that his sisters were safely out of Lannister hands; an option that would fill him with joy were it true, though how it could be possible he didn't know; or...the other possibility was too grim, too frightening for him to consider for even a moment.

"How many men do you have," his mother asked him, her tone deadly series and a steel like determination in her deep blue eyes.

"Over twenty two thousand," he told her "If I go to King's Landing and bend my knee to Joffrey..."

"You'd never be allowed to leave," she confirmed what he'd suspected as early as that first raven from the Queen, back in Winterfell "Our best; no, our only hope is that you can defeat them in the field,"

"And if I lose,"

"Do you remember what happened to the Reyne's?" he nodded "And the Targaryen children after the Mad King fell?"

"They were butchered in their sleep,"

"Then you know what happens if we lose,"

"Well," he said, swallowing nervously and resisting the urge to fidget "That makes it simple then,"

"Yes it does,"

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 **HARRY**

 **The Ruby Ford**

Harry had his force rest at Darry and stock up it's provisions for a full day before setting off to rejoin his grandfather, leaving behind fifty men as a garrison. His new squire barely said a word on the ride; though, calling Darry a squire was overselling it a bit. The boy was really a hostage meant to ensure the Darry forces within Harrenhal didn't add their swords to the fight against Kevan's men. He wasn't expected to do any of the duties a squire usually had, mainly because Harry already had a squire and partially because Harry didn't trust the boy to be either unguarded or within reach of a blade, though Harry did give him the option to help Ty feed and water the horses. Of course, such a hostage would only work if Harry was willing to kill Darry if they didn't; which was absolutely not willing to do; but in this case his family reputation worked in his favor. All the soldiers knew was that a Lannister had custody of their ward. In theory it should be enough to motivate the lad's men to stand down, but if not Kevan should be able to hold anyway.

It took a mere two days for them to reach the Lannister encampment to the south of the Ruby Ford. The sea of red and gold stretched for miles away from the river in three directions. Between the northern edge of the camp and the southern bank of the Trident river there was just enough room for their army to form up when it came to battle. Sets of fortifications had been set up in every direction with this Lord or that manning them. Harry and his men weren't given a second glance as they rode through the first; manned by some captain or other that Harry didn't know; and at the second they were met by Ser Burton Crakehall, the heir to Crakehall, who led them to Lord Tywin's particularly large personal tent. His grandfather claimed that it was only so large as to fit his War Council, but Harry suspected that beneath the pragmatism there was a part of Tywin that liked to flaunt his wealth over others. Though if such a part existed, Tywin had never given any indication of it.

He allowed his men to go and do as they pleased; which for most of them including either rest, food or a pretty camp follower; but when the various knights and men at arms had dispersed into the camp, Harry found himself standing with fifty White Lions and two young boys who were sending glares at each other. Quirking an eyebrow, Harry quickly motioned for Darry, Ty and four of his guards to come with him before giving Lyman orders to start drills with the remaining guards. That done, he pushed the flap out of the way and entered the tent.

Tywin sat at a wooden desk that was littered with open scrolls. There were a few quills and an ink pot neatly arranged to one side and a sheaf of paper next to them. A small map of the local area; easily the largest of the paper's Harry could see on the desk; was pulled directly in front of his grandfather, as were maybe half a dozen messages, one of which he was in the middle of reading with complete concentration. He was clad head to heel in crimson red Lannister armor. Two gold lions danced argent on his breastplate and his gold colored shoulder pieces were shaped like a roaring lion's head. Harry rolled his eyes. He was as proud of his family as the next Lannister, despite their less than moral moments, but he had a feeling that the amount of lions they used for decoration was a little over the top. Still, maybe that was just a Westerosi thing he hadn't gotten used to, despite living in the world for nearly seventeen years. It seemed every house did the same thing.

"Grandson," he was greeted cordially enough, though the Lord didn't do more than send a quick glance in his direction.

"Grandfather," he replied, taking a seat on the other side of the desk to the intimidating man "May I present Lord Lyman Darry, my new squire,"

That piqued his attention. Harry noticed Darry tense as his grandfather turned his eyes on him "Lord Darry," Tywin began "I am glad to see you have chosen the winning side. Now, will you require anything?"

Darry snarled "I need nor want nothing from you Lannister,"

Tywin, unperturbed, simply nodded "Very well. Ser Joffrey!" Harry almost automatically went to search for the blonde ponce and the buffoon that knighted him before recalling that Joffrey was a rather common Westerlands name. Harry rubbed his eyes; he needed to spend more time amongst his people if he had forgotten that so easily "Take Lord Darry and give him accommodation fitting to his status, and have a hot meal and bath arranged,"

Wrenching his arm out of the Lannister guardsman's grip, Darry; reluctantly and petulantly; went with the man of his own accord, glaring at both Harry and Tywin as he left. Once he was gone, Tywin turned inquisitive eyes on Harry.

"He's more valuable alive than dead," Harry told him, confused as to why he had to explain his actions given that his grandfather surely knew this.

"Of course he is," Tywin drawled and if Harry didn't know better, he could swear it was Tywin's 'Why are you being stupid' voice "I do, however, find myself curious as to why you brought the impertinent boy with you, rather than leave him with the garrison at Darry,"

"He entertains me," Harry said sarcastically, and at Tywin's slight glare he rolled his eyes "If I left him at Darry there are any number of people who would try to liberate him; his distant family, his smallfolk, what remains of his guard and household. I believed he'd be safer surrounded by twenty thousand men,"

His grandfather had just enough time to nod apporvingly; and Harry got the uncomfortable feeling he'd just been tested; before the pair were interupted by the entry of a rather...interesting collection of people. Before them stood perhaps two dozen men and women of varying age and size; some were short and stout, others were tall and broad. They were mismatched, poor quality and often incomplete sets of armour, their hair and beards long and matted. Two men stood apart from the rest though. One was a tall and slim man with dark hair, dark eyes and a shark like appearance. He wore a mail hauberk under a boiled leather jerkin. A longsword sat on his hip and his nose looked like it had been broken many times. A sellsword, Harry deduced. The second man was far smaller than any of his companions with blonde hair and rich clothes that set him apart even more than he already was. This man was easily recognizable to Harry.

"Uncle Tyrion!" he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat and, rushing forwards, he dropped to one knee and pulled his beloved uncle into a hug, steadfastly ignoring his grandfathers dissapproving frown "I was beginning to fear we may not see you alive again,"

"Fear not, my favourite nephew, as you can see I am alive and well," he said "Father. I had expected uncle Kevan to be here as well,"

"He is securing our western flank against the forces in Harrenhal," Tywin's voice was steady, not expressing any relief at seeing his son again; not that Harry had expected anything of the sort. In fact, Harry privately thought his father looked almost disappointed "I see rumors of your demise are unfounded,"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Tyrion chirped snarkily "May I introduce my fine companions: this is Shagga, son of Dolf, Chieftan of the Stone Crows; Timmett son of Timmett, ruler of the Burned Men; this fair maid is Chella daughter Cheyk, leader of the Black Ears," and on it went, Tyrion listing of his companions names, who their father was and which of the Vale clans they led or; in some cases; represented before finally reaching the shark-like sellsword "And here we have Bronn, son of..."

Tyrion trailed off and gave 'Bronn' a curious look. The man opened his mouth briefly, as though going to speak, before frowning and shaking his head slightly in an almost apologetic manner "You wouldn't know him,"

Harry quirked an eyebrow and got the distinct impression that his grandfather had done the same behind him.

"Friends, may I introduce my Lord father, Tywin son Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. And this is my favorite nephew, Harry son of Jaime. I hear you are a knight now, and a true Lannister as well?"

"I am. King Robert knighted and legitimized me at the Tourney of the Hand some moons ago,"

"My congratulations," the dwarf turned to his father "Kind of you to go to war for me,"

"You left us no choice. The honor of the House was at stake," Tywin said derisively "Your brother would never allow himself to be captured so meekly,"

"We have our difference's, Jaime and I. He's braver, I'm better looking,"

Harry snorted "Those differences likely saved your life; my father would only have gotten himself killed," when Tywin turned his unnerving glare on him, Harry shifted uncomfortably but didn't back down "I respect my father but I'm not blind to his faults. Where Tyrion is good at talking, father is good at mocking and angering,"

"All too true. I fear, father, that if my dear brother found himself captured by Lady Stark he would find himself doomed by his own words,"

Tywin gritted his teeth, and seemed to push their words about Jaime's shortcomings to the back of his mind "While you lay in a cell, he has been covering himself in glory,"

Tyrion turned questioning eyes on Harry, who sighed and pointed at the map on Tywin's desk. Tyrion made his way forward and sat on the chair next to Harry's now vacant one and reached for a jug of wine, only for Tywin to move it out of reach. Harry pointed out the positioning of the lion models on the map to give a clearer picture of Jaime's movements and actions.

"Father's host sent the Riverlords into a rout at the Golden Tooth and then captured Ser Edmure in a second battle near Riverrun," Harry explained "He now has Catelyn Stark's home under siege. The other Riverlords fell like leaves before us, excepting Harrenhall. The war is practically won; the only setback we could suffer are if the Knights of the Vale march on us,"

"Have no fear on that count, nephew. Lysa Arryn is half mad and the other half hasn't far to go. Familial relations mean nothing to her; she will hold her men back to protect her precious son" Tyrion assured them, and Harry breathed a brief sigh of both relief and frustration. If the Vale stayed out of it, then this pointless war would be over all the sooner. But if Lysa Arryn was as unhinged as Tyrion claimed...it could cause problems down the line "But what about the Stark's? Lord Eddard.."

"Is our hostage. He sits rotting in a Black Cell," Harry gritted his teeth once again.

He saw his uncle's eyes widen in surprise "How did my sweet sister convince King Robert to have his lifelong friend,"

"Robert is dead," Harry told him blandly "Aunt Cersei rules now, in all but name. Joffrey sits the Iron Throne as her uncontrollable puppet. Robb Stark has called the banners. None of our scouts have gotten close enough to make a good estimate on his numbers, but by the accounts of those who survived it is at least as large as our own,"

"Stark is a green boy. He'll rush blindly into open battle and then run back to Winterfell with his tail between his legs once he gets a proper taste of it,"

Harry found that he couldn't disagree more. He himself had been a green boy when he went to war; naive, trusting and reckless he'd charged blindly into battle just as his grandfather believed Stark would do and it had cost him. But he hadn't run back to Hogwarts or gods forbid Privet Drive when he lost Sirius in what was his first real taste of war. Instead he'd learned from his losses and mistakes and adapted so that he could avoid making such stupid mistakes again. He'd become colder and more ruthless and then he'd gone back into battle, much more prepared and willing to what was necessary to win. Furthermore, Tywin himself was little more than a boy, green and untested in battle, when he'd fought against the uprisings of House's Reyne and Tarbeck. For all they knew, Stark's son might be made of similar stuff. Knowing though that his grandfather wouldn't even consider the notion that an army led by the Stark boy could be a threat, Harry resolved in his mind to be cautious going forward.

"Maybe," Tyrion didn't seem to be as certain as his father, nor as doubtful as Harry himself "Though the boy does have a ceratin belligerence. You'd like him; actually you both would. While we're on the subject of war, I made promises to my friends here and a Lannister always pays his debts. We shall require three thousand helms and shields, plus swords, pikes, gorgets, maces..."

Tyrion looked set to continue and by the greedy look in their eyes, Harry believed the clansmen very much wanted him to as well. It was the dwarf's turn to be interupted though, as Ty sped into the tent and rushed to Harry's side. There he hovered awkwardly for several seconds, seemingly intimidated by the presence of his great uncle and the dangerous looking clansmen before he remembered that the purpose he was there for "My Lord, Ser Addam reports that the Stark host has crossed the neck and is marching south,"

Tywin smiled "The wolf rushed into the lion's jaws. Very well. Have Ser Addam fall back and meet us several league's north of here. Grandson, command the drummers beat assembly and prepare the men to march. And have word sent to Jaime that I am moving against Robb Stark,"

Harry opened his mouth to protest but, glancing at the clansmen, decided to wait and opted, for the moment, to simply say "Yes, grandfather,"

Turning to the very men who's presence convinced Harry to hold his tongue, Tywin stood and addressed them all though Harry observed that it was mainly the one Tyrion introduced as Shagga that Tywin spoke to "Fight with me against my enemies and you shall have all my son promised you and more,"

Shagga growled and there was a collective murmer of outrage from the other clan leaders "Does Tywin son of Tytos mean to promise us what it already owed?"

"A harmless courtesy used by those not of the mountains," Harry rushed to quell their anger "The fighting prowess of the clans of the Vale are famous even in Casterly Rock. My grandfather simply meant that we wished to witness such great warriors ourselves. Even our bravest knights fear to face a Northman in battle,"

It seemed his gamble paid off as first Timmett of the Burned Men and then Chella of the Black Ears started boasting of their ability in battle, taking the bait that he had laid out until only Shagga had remained quiet. Eventually, after meeting Tywin's stare for a few moments, the man spoke "Only if the halfman fights with us. Until we hold the steel he pledged us, the little lions life is ours,"

Slowly; ever so slowly; Tywin turned and looked at his youngest child, a small, unidentifiable gleam in his cold eyes. Tyrion, for his part, had only just managed to reach across the table and pull the jug of wine back towards himself when Shagga made his ultimatum and looked more shocked than Harry had ever seen him. For a desperate moment, Harry hoped against hope that his grandfather's usual arrogance would show through; that he would place the life of his son above a few clansmen and, in his pride, believe Stark to be an easy victory that didn't require outside aid. Harry knew that putting Tyrion on the front lines with the clansmen would mean almost certain death; Tyrion couldn't fight and the clansmen didn't seem to be the best of bodyguards. Their blood lust would get the better of them and they'd charge off, leaving his unlce defenseless.

Tywin's usual hatred of his imp son was the aspect of his character that controlled the Lord of the Rock's mouth in that moment though "Done," he said simply, and Tyrion's face fell "Nephew, escort our new friends and their men to the armory and have them outfitted for battle,"

Ty nodded, though he was as white as a sheet when doing it so Harry gave him a quick nod, meant to reassure him, before the boy left with the clan leaders following behind him. The sellsword Bronn followed idly behind them.

Once they were gone, Harry turned to his granfather feeling angry, confused and incredulous all at once "What do you mean we're marching to deal with Robb Stark?" he demanded, and his grandfather's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Mind your tone, grandson," he warned

"Never mind my tone!" he shouted "We hold a river crossing, fortifications have been set up and the men are well rested. What in Seven Hells possessed you to decide to abandon this position?"

"Do you think me some fool who will rush blindly into a battle?" Tywin asked, and Harry wordlessly shook his head "Good. I have a plan to ensure the death of the Stark boy and the defeat of his whole army. We cannot allow this war to drag out, so we must ensure he will not be able to retreat," when Harry made to speak again, Tywin raised his voice slightly "I will not be questioned on this, grandson, nor on my decision to have Tyrion fight on the frontline,"

Seething, Harry clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth.

Glaring silently at each other for a moment, Tywin soon turned his intention to the map in front of him "We'll march to a location several miles north of the ford and set up there. Harrold will command the right flank, made up of four thousand heavy horse. Ser Addam will lead nine thousand archers, pikemen and men at arms up the centre. I will stay in reserve with a five thousand man mix of heavy horse and men at arms," so far Harry was nodding, though he hadn't missed the fact that Tywin was not actually explaining his plan to trap Stark. The troop placements had so far made sense. "Tyrion; you and your clansmen will join fifteen hundred more cavalry on the left. We have enough spare horses to mount your clansmen on,"

That was the point Harry frowned at "The left is rather weak, and only half of them will be armoured, including Tyrion's clansmen. Would it not be better to place some of Ser Addam's men on the left?"

"The left is strong enough, and I will be in a position to to move to support the left when I need to," Tywin said, and Harry couldn't help but get the feeling that he was missing something.

Sighing, he did his best to shake that feeling off "Very well, grandfather," he said "I disagree with your decision, but I'll lead your vanguard,"

"You mistake me, grandson," something in the Lord's voice made Harry's blood run cold "Gregor Clegane will command the left, and his men will form the vanguard,"

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 **ROBB**

 **The Twins**

They'd left Moat Cailin and marched through the Neck four days ago, Robb's great uncle Brynden Tully; a famous and reknowned knight known as the Blackfish who had once served as Knight of the Bloody Gate before leaving the Eyrie with Robb's mother; leading their scouts and outriders with orders to kill any and all Lannister scouts they came across. The man had taken the job as naturally as a fish swims or a man breathe's. So far only a single Lannister had gotten anywhere near their army and even that one scout was discovered before he got anywhere near their actual numbers. He'd been dragged into the command tent, bound and gagged during a war meeting and upon discovering that he'd counted as many as twenty thousand men, Robb's plan had begun to hatch.

"Tell Lord Tywin 'Winter is coming for him. Twenty-five thousand Northerner's marching south to find out if he reallt does shit gold'," he'd told the scout, before ordering him released.

Many had been unhappy about that decision, Robb knew. The GreatJon was the most obvious, but he knew that nearly all of his Lords and even his mother and closest friend thought him a fool for that. But if his plan was to work, the Lannister army to the south needed to believe that Robb was marching against Tywin. He hadn't filled his bannermen in on the plan yet though. He wanted to see if it was feasible first and he wouldn't know that until Walder Frey had made a decision.

That was why his army was camped not a third of a league from the Frey's two castle's, the Twins. They'd reached the castle early that morning to fing the Lord of the Crossing with four thousand men had not bestirred himself for his liege Lord's plight. Robb had hoped they could rely on Lord Walder's support as one of his grandfather's bannermen but it seemed they would have to bargain for the right to use the bridge that stood as the only crossing point above the Ruby Ford. Robb would have liked to be the one doing the negotiating, but his mother and Lords refused to allow it. Instead it was his mother that was inside the Frey's halls, his mother who might be taken prisoner or killed or worse if Lord Frey decided the Lannister's were the better offer.

Night had fallen by the time his mother returned from the castle and Robb had been sitting in his tent awaiting her return for hours, having dismissed his bannermen before the sun had set. He looked up as she entered.

"Well?" he asked impatiently "What did he say?"

"Lord Walder has granted us crossing. He has agreed to allow you to use the bridge at will and will add his swords to yours," she said "Less the three hundred men he intends to keep here and hold the crossing against any who wish to pursue you," she hesitated "I might suggest leaving a small force to supplement his garrison and ensure he keeps his word. Perhaps four hundred men; he could hardly be offended by an offer to help protect his castle,"

"It's a good idea," Robb agreed "I'll see it done. Perhaps Ser Helman Tallhart could command them; father always trusted him and he's a capable commander,"

"A fine suggestion,"

Robb sighed, he knew what was coming "What does he want in return?"

"You will take his son Olyvar on as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood in good time,"

"Fine, fine. And?"

"And two of his younger sons or grandsons will be sent to ward at Winterfell,"

"I see no problem with that. And?"

"And Arya will marry his son Elmar when they both come of age,"

"She won't be happy about that," Robb almost winced at the thought of Arya's reaction. Seeing the look on his mother's face, she could tell that there was something else she was holding back "There's more?"

His mother nodded and frowned before saying "And when the fighting is done you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever one you prefer. He has a number he thinks will be suitable,"

Robb stared for a moment before taking a deep breath "I see. Did you see these daughters?"

"I did,"

"And?"

"There was one..."she trailed off "Do you consent?"

"Can I refuse?" he asked nervously

"Not if you want to cross,"

"Then I consent. And my plan can work. Torrhen!" he called, and the youngest son of House Karstark opened the flap of the tent "Gather my Lords bannermen. I have a tactic I need to discuss with them,"

It didn't take long. His Lords were prompt and eager for a fight. Within minutes his war council had gathered and was readily waiting instruction.

"Lord Frey has granted us crossing, if I consent to wed one of his daughters among other things," he told them and then continued before any comments could be made "We'll also be leaving three hundred Frey spearmen and four hundred Northmen to hold the Twins under the command of Ser Helman. But the question of our next move remains. I've thought long about whether we march against Tywin Lannister or to lift the siege of Riverrun. I've made my decision,"

He paused for a moment "We're going to do both. Lord Glover what do our numbers stand at after adding the Frey force to it?"

"A little over twenty eight thousand, not counting the men staying to garrison the Twins,"

"And how many are heavy horse?"

"Perhaps seven thousand,"

Robb nodded slowly "It will have to be enough," he muttered before speaking up and addressing his lords "We are going to split our army here at the Twins. The cavalry to cross to the west side of the river and make haste for Riverrun. The foot, meanwhile, will march down the Green Fork and engage Tywin Lannister,"

"You'd put a river in between the two halves of your army?" his mother asked, her voice fraught with worry. The Lords, though some looked slightly skeptical, were nodding as they thought it over.

"I'd put a river in between the two Lannister armies," he explained "If our scouts are successful then neither army will have any idea our army has split,"

"If we split our force then Tywin Lannister's army will outnumber the foot host," Bolton cautioned "And he is one of the most capable military commanders alive today, rivaled only by Randyll Tarly and Stannis Baratheon. You may very well be sending twenty thousand men to their deaths,"

But Robb shook his head and turned to Ser Stevron Frey, the nearly seventy year old heir to the Twins "I've heard rumors that Tywin Lannister left a portion of his force to prevent his army being flanked by Lady Whent. Is this true,"

Stevron nodded "We've had scouts return from further down the Trident reporting that Ser Kevan holds five thousand men near Harrenhal,"

Robb turned back to his assembled bannermen and was glad to see that most, if not all, had suddenly perked up at this word "Whoever leads the foot will still have to be cautious. Even outnumbered, Tywin Lannister will be a dangerous foe and our numerical advantage will be wasted if we charge him recklessly," he surveyed the men in front of him and eventually made his choice "Lord Karstark; I believe no man here could doubt your courage or skill. Can I trust you to lead the foot?"

Karstark swelled with pride but also adopted a grim and determined expression "I swear to you, my Lord, I'll bring you Tywin Lannister's head and that of the Kingslayer's bastard,"

"I wish you good fortune in your battles, Lord Karstark," Robb said solemnly "I will lead the horse myself, with Lord's Bolton, Glover, Umber along with Lady Mormont, Ser Brynden and Ser Stevron to advise me. The rest of you will march with Lord Karstark,"

From there, the meeting evolved into a debate on which Lords would travel with which host, who would lead the individual house's forces in them, who (to Robb's consternation) would make up the personal guard his lords insisting he have when they rode into battle. His mother wanted him to have a hundred personal guards, an option he refused outright. His Lords agreed with him, and then instantly turned on him when he suggested ten and instead offered fifty. Eventually, they compromised at thirty sons of his bannermen to act as a personal bodyguard, with neither side really happy with the arrangement. Still, Robb couldn't deny he felt infinitely safer when it was agreed that SmallJon Umber, the GreatJon's heir, would be riding with him alongside the axe wielding Dacey Mormont, some of Lord Walder's most talented swordsmen; such as Ser Perwyn; along with others like Wendel Manderly, Torrhen and Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood and Robin Flint. Theon would also be a part of his guard, as would his new squire Olyvar Frey and twenty others.

Eventually, the meeting began to draw to a close "If there is nothing else, my Lords..."

"My Lord," a foot soldier burst into the tent, everything about his stance, expression and tone gave the impression of a frantic man "My Lord a carriage was stopped as it moved north up the Kingsroad, escorted by an armed guard,"

"Get to the point, boy," GreatJon thundered "We don't have time to deal with paranoid merchants,"

"Peace, Lord Umber," Robb held up a placating hand to his bannerman and focused his attention on the soldier "Calm down. Tell me what happened,"

"The men escorting the carriage; they bear the colors of your house, my Lord. The man in charge identified himself as Tomard and says that Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are with him,"

Out of the corner of his eye, Robb saw his mother's hands fly to her mouth, and he vaguely heard her gasp. But he didn't pay her any attention in that moment.

"Take me to them," he ordered and within minutes found himself at the edge of his army's camp. There just beyond the last of the tents and separated from him by a line of spearmen, were his sisters. They looked older than he remembered. Sansa had grown even more slender and beautiful than she had been when she was last in Winterfell. Her auburn hair was worn in a fanciful and frankly ridiculous southern fashion, and her dress was full of bright colors; it was, quite clearly, made out of finer materials than any dress she had gone south with was; but he ignored all of that in favor of the fact that she was both alive, unharmed and most of all safe. Arya was still as short and scrappy as she always had been, but she looked even more like a boy than before. A thin Braavosi style blade was attached to her hip, and she wore brown boots, breeches that were a little too short and an overly large tan doublet. They were accompanied by a girl Robb just about recognized as Jeyne Poole, the elderly Septa Mordane, three Stark guardsmen; each recovering from some wound or another; and a tall, lithe dark haired Bravo.

"Robb!" Arya cried as she caught sight of him and before they could do anything, she had ducked beneath the spearmen and rushed towards him. Dropping to one knee Robb and opened his arms and pulled her into a tight hug "I've missed you,"

"And I you, little sister," he replied "Let them pass!"

The spearmen stepped aside and allowed the ragged and tired looking group to pass. Robb saw that it was indeed Tomard, or Fat Tom as they'd called him in their youth, that was leading them.

"Tom," he greeted, and was met with a gruff 'My Lord' in return "What happened?"

"We were attacked on the rode by a group of Goldcloaks," he reported "We lost four men fighting them off, and would have lost more if it hadn't been for your sister's dancing master,"

"Dancing master?" Sansa hadn't needed a dancing master in two years and Arya would never accept learning from one

"His names Syrio," Arya chirped happily, much to his surprise "Father hired him to teach me Braavosi Water Dancing,"

So the dancing master was for Arya and she was not only content but happy about it? It told Robb why exactly the Braavosi man, who he presumed was this Syrio, was doing with his sister's. Though, Robb considered, given the sword she wears and the sword on the Bravo's back, Robb had a feeling that Arya wasn't learning any sort of dance that Sansa or their mother would approve off.

"Sansa! Arya!" As though his thoughts had summoned her, his mother appeared next to him, pulling both of her daughters into her arms and murmuring thanks to the Seven and the Old Gods.

"Robb, Mother do you know what's happening?" a frantic Sansa suddenly asked "The City Watch attacked us and we had to leave King's Landing so quickly and we had to move travel so fast and I don't understand what's happening,"

Robb sighed and met his mother's eyes. The blue orbs pleaded with him not to tell them, but he knew he had to. It wouldn't be fair for them to find out from anyone else "Father has been arrested for treason,"

Arya let out a shocked and anger filled "What?" and the three guardsmen tightened their grip on the hilt of their swords before Sansa recovered her wits enough to speak again "What? No, but...but Joffrey wouldn't do that, why would he do that,"

"He did, Sansa," Robb told her gently "We received a raven from the Queen. Father has been named a traitor and I've been summoned south to King's Landing to swear fealty to Joffrey,"

Sansa, who had started softly crying at some point during his explanation, hiccuped slightly before asking "Are you going to go?"

"Aye," he said darkly, fingering the pommel of his sword "Aye, I'm going to go,"

Sansa caught his motion and then suddenly seemed to become aware of the encampment behind him as her eyes widened "But, Robb you can't..."

"Good," Arya said bluntly "You should kill him and make Tommen king instead!"

"Arya!"

"It's true. Joffrey's a horrible, cruel, coward. He lied and got Lady killed and he sent the Hound to kill Micah," Arya ranted "He's mean to Tommen and Myrcella and he says awful things about Harry and Will,"

Robb felt a headache begin to form as he listened to his mother scold the girls on fighting as they made their way to Robb's personal tent "Micah? Harry and Will?"

Arya nodded "Micah was my friend..."

"He was a butcher's boy," Sansa rolled her eyes and said snidely

"He was my friend!" Arya shouted "Joffrey lied and said we attacked him. The Queen ordered Lady to be killed and the Hound was sent to kill Micah. Harry is Jaime Lannister's bastard and he'd a really good swordsmen. He was kind to us and isn't anything like his family. Will is Harry's friend; he's a really good archer and he taught me lots..."

Robb smiled as he sat down in his tent with his sisters and mother and simply listened to Arya talk about the friends she'd made; though it greatly irked him to know that the Kingslayer's bastard had such an influence on his sister. As he sat there, Robb wished he didn't have to leave them again. By the next morning, though, Robb was riding at the head of a column of nearly seven thousand heavy horsemen as they crossed the Frey's bridge. Ser Stevron rode on his right, while his new squire, Olyvar; an excitable and generally innocent boy who was actually two years Robb's senior, though his maturity gave the impression that Robb was the older; rode to his left. Robb knew from watching his father and listening to the servants and soldiers of Winterfell that his father, while at war, would always have a different man ride with him at the front of the army each day, whether it be a common foot-soldier or a nobleman. As the Frey's had just recently joined them and would soon become family, Robb felt it appropriate that it should be Ser Stevron riding with him today. On the other side of the river, he could see a mass of infantry and five hundred horsemen beginning to march down the Kingsroad, the winter sun of House Karstark leading the way.

Arya and Sansa were traveling back to Winterfell with Jeyne, the Septa, the Braavosi and an escort of twenty men. Robb wished his mother had agreed to go with them but as much as she desired to be back in Winterfell with her children, she refused to leave the army until her husband was free and all of her children were safe, including Robb.

For her sake, Robb hoped the war would be over quickly.

* * *

 **So, this chapter was also supposed to contain both the Battle of the Green Fork, the Battle of the Whispering Woods & The Camps as well as their respective aftermath's and an interlude back to King's Landing. Unfortunately, this chapter ran on for long enough so that's the much shorter next chapter.**

 **Reviews:**

 **Lord of Ocean's Poseidon: Personally, I always found people like Tywin much more intimidating than Voldemort. Sure Riddle's magically powerful, but he's also all "Evil Monologue, mad cackling, mwuhahaha, kill you dramatically". Tywin just seems to be the sort of presence that is so much more intimidating. Besides: Harry also couldn't stand up to Vernon or Snape.**

 **grg213: What could he do? Fight the Mountain and lose and then the woman gets raped anyway? Convincing Tywin to call Gregor off is all he could do and when that failed he was powerless to stop it**

 **Mangahero18: I think Ramsay might rank up there?**

 **coldblue: 1) I can confirm we'll get Stannis, Renly, Tarly and (obviously) Robb. Plus maybe a bit of Theon and some others much later on that I won't mention here. 2) Let's just say that Harry will have a hand in vastly advancing Lannister power/wealth. 3) He'll save one of the three people you mentioned. 4) No comment at this point. Massive spoilers. 5) I have a pretty good idea for what I'm going to do with the magic thing and how Harry will discover the return of magic.**

 **Vatsyayna69: Believe it or not, changes have happened. Just because the build up's taking a while doesn't mean it's not there.**

 **ozymandias123: There was going to be a rather obvious and critical change in this chaper and then another next, but due to time and word count etc they've both been bumped back a chapter, unfortunately. There's also a hidden, VERY MAJOR change next chapter that smart people might catch.**

 **agnar: completely wrong. Harry didn't know about Tyrion's kidnapping until Ty told him and then he instantly went to try and intercept Jaime. He just wasn't informed fast enough. Also, no, not 10-15 chapters from now. Change are happening already and the major deviations from canon are coming in the next 2/3 after which the story will be very different from canon (at least in regards to WO5K)**

 **arkkitehti: Harry didn't abort his plans, he aborted one plan. Also, Harry knows Tywin. As good a politician as he is, the man is selectively blind when he wants to be and won't change his opinion unless faced with first hand evidence. Harry moving against Joffrey is one thing; he hates who and what Joffrey is, but he respects and on some level loves Tywin.**

 **MVDB: Stuff is changing. This chapter has some subtle ones and the next few are where the massive ones begin to happen.**

 **Thedemonlordpingu: Harry was a bastard and unofficial heir until chapter 4. He's only just been able to really start expanding, and he has. It's just not really had an impact yet.**

 **chicaalterego: thanks for the support.**

 **blackharmony: maybe, but he doesn't know that. He's not omniscient. He's not a coward but he'd not stupid; he is physically unable to take on the Mountain and against Tywin's order his own mean very little.**

 **Everyone else: Thank you for your support (unless you're one of the ones that just flame using guest reviews) and I'm glad you're enjoying it.**

 **That's all for now. Cya next time. Yozza out!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.**

* * *

Chapter 6  


 **JAIME  
**

 **Riverrun**

Defeating the Riverlords in the field had been easy enough. The Lord's Vance and Piper and their combined force of three thousand spearmen and knights had clearly not been expecting such a large host so soon and had been caught of guard. About a third of their number had been killed that day with the rest falling back to Riverrun where they had regrouped with the Tully-Blackwood force. That had been a fairly easy victory as well. Edmure Tully was as green as Jaime's own son when it came to war and fair less talented, he had discovered. Six thousand disorganized levies had met Jaime's five and eighteen thousand men, and while Jaime's losses had been greater than he'd anticipated; fifteen hundred dead or injured westermen; he'd killed more than half of his enemy and forced the remainder back inside Riverrun. Even better, Edmure Tully and nearly two dozen other nobles of varying rank had been captured, with Lord Vance and a number of others being slain in battle.

But as easy as winning the battles had been, Jaime was finding the ensuing siege to be much more difficult. Tytos Blackwood commanded the garrison, and he was doing a damn good job of it. Any attempt by Jaime's army to build siege weapons like catapults had been destroyed by the onagers that stood atop Riverrun's battlements and no matter where he placed his men he couldn't have his archers fire volley's at the castle simply because no matter what range the longbows of the westerlands had, the Blackwood bowmen had more. Even beyond that, it had to be one of the most awkward sieges Jaime had ever seen. After pulling his troops back to the castle walls, Blackwood had ordered the portcullis raised and turned the castle into an island. Jaime had been forced to split his army up into three camps of five thousand men in order to siege it effectively. Forley Prester, Lord of Feastfires, commanded the east camp which was situated on the east side of the Red Fork, the one most in danger of an attack from the Whent's. Thankfully, Ser Forley was a skilled and experienced commander. Wooden stakes and pit traps had been set up to the east while a constant guard was kept on Riverrun's east drawbridge. The northern camp was placed under the command of Lord Quentin Banefort while Lord Andros Brax of Hornvale took command of the force that had set up in between the Tumblestone and the Red Fork, to Riverrun's southwest.

Jaime himself had taken command of a force of two thousand heavy horse in an attempt to hunt down the other major problem facing him. While most of the survivors from the battles at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun had fallen back into the castle, there were small groups of cavalry that had taken to raiding his stores and supply lines. Jaime had no idea who led them, but knew one was likely Marq Piper, the heir to Pinkmaiden. So far though, Jaime and his men had only managed to capture a single raiding party. Still, there was nothing for it but to continue to try and catch them. If he didn't then they would starve long before Blackwood and his men did.

That was where Jaime was now. A group of riders flying Tully banners had been spotted to the north and his suspicions had been confirmed when Banefort's camp had been raided not long after. He and his heavy cavalry had begun to pursue immediately, chasing the riders for a few miles until they reached a heavily wooded area just east of Raventree Hall. It was a forested valley with a rocky stream running through down the middle. The sloping ridges on either side were densely packed with tall tree's whose canopy was thick enough to block out most of the moonlight that should be shining down on them from the fully circular silver orb that lit up the cloudless night sky. Jaime paid no heed to the soft breeze that had his soldiers shivering as he spurred his horse on, and likewise did not acknowledge the faint whispers that traveled on the wind. Doubtless his men would spread stories of snarks and grumpkins living in the wood by morning, but Jaime did not fear children's tale and would not be distracted from his goal so easily.

The hairs on the back of his arms and neck stood on end and a felt a tight, clenching sensation in his stomach when the warhorns began to blow.

HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo!

The first long, low blast of the horns shattered the stillness of the night and in the heartbeat after a hail of arrows fell from the sky, raining down on top of Jaime and his men. All were clad in steel armour, most using full suits of plate and their horses were not unprotected either. Even still, some arrows found their mark, punching through a gap of a weak point and piercing flesh, indiscriminate of whether it was horse or man. In an instant Jaime's men were struggling to reel the panicking horses around to face the mounted, armoured gauntlet that was storming out of the trees on their right. In the half a blink he had, Jaime took notice of the banner's; there were many and more but those that were most common and stood out the most was the silver eagle of Mallister on purple and the bear of Mormont, along with other's that doubtless belonged to other Northern and Riverlands house's.

HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo!

HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Jaime barely had time to process that an attack was happening from the east when two more deep warhorns were blown to the north and west, joined by the chilling and frightening howl of a wolf. No wolf had ever before made Jaime afraid but this sound seemed to pass right through him. Turning his head rapidly and trying to put the chilling sound out of his mind, Jaime saw more riders storming out from all directions. A pink flayed man, the twin towers of Frey, a merman, the Stark direwolf, a mailed fist and some sort of roaring giant on a red banner were the banners Jaime could see leading the force, and all of them were mounted atop tall warhorses and their lances nearly sparkled in the silvery light of the moon. Jaime was briefly able to acknowledge that it was strangely beautiful before the forces met in a screeching clash of steel.

It was a struggle to even keep moving, Jaime found. Most of his force had been either killed or broken in the first charge and now the fight had devolved into a chaotic melee as the northmen circled around and trapped them in and the stubborn few of Jaime's men who refused to either die or yield so easily fought on, desperately trying to escape the circle of death. Jaime knew it was pointless. They had been trapped and they were outnumbered. Stark's host was all mounted while more than half of Jaime's remaining knights had been forced to fight on the ground for one reason or another. The battle was lost.

 _But maybe not entirely,_ Jaime thought as he scanned the battlefield idly fighting off any of the fools that thought they could stand up to him.

The Kingslayer caught sight of his quarry in a heartbeat. Robb Stark was in the thick of it a ways to Jaime's left. The boy was fighting on foot now, though whether he had dismounted on purpose or been forced to was something Jaime could not say. An uncommonly large grey wolf that Jaime recognized as a direwolf fought at the boy's side, leaping from man to man and seemed to alternate between tearing out throats with his incredibly sharp fangs or hamstringing them with his claws, and the boy was surrounded by what looked to be a personal bodyguard. Nonetheless, Jaime knew that he could end this war right here and spurred his horse into as much of a charge as he could. He cut down a half dozen northmen with ease, only faltering when a well placed arrow was shot through his horse's neck. Stumbling to his feet, Jaime found himself having to hastily raise his blade to parry an attack that would have split his neck in half. Countering quickly, he clashed blade's with the northman and knocked the other man's sword aside before stabbing into the opening of the man's helm. Swiftly sidestepping to avoid an attack from a still mounted man (and slashing at the horse's underbelly for good measure) Jaime surged forward, beheading one man and sending another to the ground clutching his rapidly bleeding leg Jaime advanced on the Stark boy.

"My Lord!" one of the guards called out in warning, before stepping forward to block Jaime's path. He had a moose on his armour, but that was all Jaime saw before, without difficulty, he deflected the guards attack and slashed his blade along the man's throat. But even as the body was falling to the ground another had taken his place, bringing his sword down on Jaime's undefended left. With skilled and speed that he was sure seemed impossible, Jaime pivoted and blocked. Unexpectedly, the other managed to use Jaime's block as a way to bring more power and speed to an overhead attack that Jaime dodged back from. Quickly ending the fight, Jaime parried a lunge and before the other man could pull his arm back, Jaime's sword had cleaved through his arm at the elbow. With a scream of pain, the man fell to the ground, his hand pressed against the stump that was spraying blood across his surcoat, decorated with a silver star.

"EDD!" The grief filled scream tore Jaime's attention from the Stark boy for naught more than a moment but it was enough. Jaime turned in time to block a strike from another, younger lad that bore striking similarity to the one Jaime had just killed. The strikes rained down on him wild and relentless, but slow and sloppy. Within an instant, Jaime had managed to twist his blade around the others and with a simple flick of the wrist had disarmed him. But as he pulled his arm back to plunge his sword through the boy's throat, he locked eyes with the boy's light green ones. _He's not much older than Harry,_ Jaime realized and while the boy's eyes were not the same emerald shade as his sons, it was enough to make him hesitate for a fraction of a second as his mind pictured his blade coming to rest in Harry's throat rather than some unknown northerner. That split second hesitation was all it took, and in the next instant the Kingslayer felt as though a tree trunk had been slammed into his side, throwing him to the ground. Glancing up at the powerfully built man, similar in size to the Hound, Jaime lunged for his sword but was brought up short by the flat of an axe slamming into his face.

In his last moments before blackness overtook his vision, Jaime saw the last of his men throw down their arms as the massive, dark haired man and a short, muscular woman with a a lot of axe's stood over him.

* * *

 **HARRY**

 **The Green Fork**

On the other side of the Riverlands, that following morning, Harry found himself starting awake to the sound of warhorns ringing through the air, some coming from the Lannister sentries and others distinctly foreign. The main Lannister army had arrived at the location Tywin had chosen to face the Northmen at the night before, their scouts reporting back that the Northern host should reach them at noon the following day. Despite his misgivings about the whole situation, Harry had to admit the location was a good one. To the right, the plains sloped upwards on a gradual ascent until the hills reached the rocky base of the mountain range that marked the border of the Vale. The sloped land was perfectly suited to the heavy cavalry Tywin wanted him to command on the right flank, allowing them to build up more momentum for their charges while negating the effect of the northern horse. The land sloped downwards to the left, the plains merging into the banks of the rushing Green Fork river. There was absolutely no possible way for Stark to get around their flanks, unless he wanted his army to swim or climb, either of which would spell disaster for him.

Nonetheless, Harry had never managed to suppress the nagging feeling that the left flank was far too weak. The left was made up of two thousand men, all of whom were mounted, yet only a quarter of Clegane's men were armoured knights. The rest was the hedge knights, free riders and lightly armoured levies that had the privilege of owning a horse, plus Tyrion's five hundred clansmen who, though ferocious to be sure, were still ill equipped to fight against a professional army. Being honest with himself, Harry could admit that Tyrion's chances at surviving the coming battle was slim and he knew that his uncle felt much the same. The night before he had spent drinking and talking with Harry, the sellsword Bronn and some camp follower named Shae that he ended up spending the night with. Though Bronn's stories had managed to bring genuine grins to their faces, the night had been quite somber overall. Tyrion, Harry could tell, was very aware that the night might have been his last night among the living, and in his drunken state he'd revealed the full story of his tragic marriage to Tysha, of which Harry had only ever heard rumors.

It had been getting late by the time Harry had made his way back to his own tent and he regretted that now, as he tiredly stumbled out of his bed roll. Harry hurried to pull his breeches and boots on, before throwing a loose cotton shirt on and buckling up his sword belt before rushing out of his tent and into the panicking mass of men, surging around him as they scrambled for weapons and armour. It was early, he realized; very early. Dawn must only have broken an hour or two before as the sun was still struggling to rise beyond the horizon and a thin mist lay over the land. Clad as scarcely as he was, Harry shivered slightly in the cool morning air as he shoved his way past a few lost looking young men, hurriedly making his way through the Lannister encampment in his search for a vantage point and coming to a halt next to Ser Addam Marbrand. At the sight that lay before him, Harry's eyes widened in a manner he was sure would have been comical in any other situation.

"The snuck a night march on us," Marbrand cursed "Damn it all, they pulled a night march,"

Indeed they had. It seemed Stark was much more cunning than the mighty Lord of the West had expected. Certainly more than Harry expected. For a brief moment Harry could only watch as a wave of northmen marched over the hills little less than a mile away from where the Lannister army had camped the night. To get here so fast, Stark must have marched his army through the night and even then at a remarkably fast pace. Harry could almost feel himself pale as realization sunk in. They didn't have time to form up; if Stark was smart enough to force a night march then he wouldn't be foolish enough to waste it. Within moments, Harry knew he would see a horde of Northern horse's charging them, and he wasn't naive enough to think they could win. He knew what happened the last time Lannister spears had met a Northern cavalry charge. Roddy 'The Ruin' Dustin and his small force of Winter Wolves had shattered a Lannister army right here in the Riverlands during the Dance of Dragons, and then led the remaining few to slay ten times their number at the First Battle of Tumbleton. Caught of guard by a night march, facing a force of superior numbers and utterly unprepared for battle Harry knew that what Tywin expected to be an easy victory had just turned into a disastrous defeat.

But then, to his shock, instead of the thousands he'd been expecting, a small force of maybe a few hundred cavalrymen was all that charged out ahead of the main body of infantry, and Harry felt a faint sliver of hope rise in his chest. Though he knew that even this small force could inflict untold damage to them, the fact that Stark wasn't sending his full might for whatever reason meant that they might have a chance at forming a rearguard so as to allow the bulk of the army to escape. Glancing at the swiftly approaching heavy horse, Harry noticed that they were being led by the silver star of House Karstark, alongside the now familiar snarling direwolf. A few others that Harry vaguely recognized such as Manderly, Dustin and Mormont were dotted throughout the opposing army but Harry noticed that the flayed man of Bolton was conspicuously absent.

Not dwelling on it; and secretly hoping that there might have been dissension in the ranks; Harry turned to his father's friend (and three time cousin to the Lannister family) "Form some men up as best you can. I'll rally for a counterattack," he ordered, before sprinting back to his tent as fast as he could force himself to move, pushing and ordering the men to grab their weapons and armour. Arriving at his tent, he was greeted by the sight of an anxious and pale Ty wringing his hands nervously and a delighted Lyman Darry, watching the approaching banners with a smug grin on his face. A pair of White Lions stood on either side of the young Lord, while Lyman Jast was just beyond them, forming the remainder of Harry's personal guard and a number of other men at arms into ranks and preparing them for battle.

"My Lord!" Ty cried out, and his pale face regained some colour "When we couldn't find you we feared the worst,"

"Fetch my armour, Ty, quickly!" he barked out, a little harshly, glancing frantically around at the sound of crashing metal coming from the northern edge of the encampment. Ty did indeed move quickly, fumbling to get Harry into armour as quickly as possible and before long Harry was clad in a mail hauberk, a boiled leather doublet and a plate breastplate. Pulling a half helm over his head, Harry faced the dark brown destrier that had been brought to his side and hauled himself into the saddle.

"Take Lord Darry to my grandfather and keep him under guard, the rest of you with me," he ordered before spurring his horse forwards and surging through the chaotic frenzy that had ensued since the beginning of the attack

All too soon, Harry had reached the edge of the encampment. All along the way he had rallied the troops as best he could considering that some had already begun to rout. The knights and men at arms, the most professional part of the army, had been the easiest to rally and Harry found himself riding with a force of a thousand heavy cavalry and perhaps thrice as many infantry at his back. Not enough to defeat the Stark host, but perhaps enough to delay the northerners approach. The initial skirmish had already been met and it was a bloodbath. Even as Harry arrived, the Northern cavalry, which by this point had been whittled down to about half it's strength, was wheeling around for another charge. After initially slicing through the disorganized Lannister soldiers in the outermost section of the camp, the Northmen had met the crude and thin spear wall that Addam Marbrand had managed to form against them. So far it seemed to be holding, but Harry could see that another couple of direct charges would break the line and it didn't seem as though the Northmen had any intention of falling back. They had no reason to, Harry supposed. Though half their number lay unmoving on the field, for every dead northerner there were at least five times as many dead Lannister soldiers. To make a bad situation worse, the Northern infantry was advancing steadily, their archers spreading out into two long lines on either side of the road in front of the northern spears and notching their arrows in preparation for a volley.

"Cavalry!" Harry called, trying to project his voice as much as possible over the clashing of steel and the cries of the wounded in the background "With me!"

And with that he dug his spurs into his destrier's sides, urging his mount to pick up speed. Starting off a trot, the steed wound up until he was galloping and then full out charging. The thunder of hooves to either side and behind him told him that his men were following, and slight glints out of the corner of his eyes marked the tips of the sturdy war lances many were using. Harry tuned it all out, focusing only on the line of spearmen that edged ever closer to breaking ranks and fleeing as the northmen crashed against their lines once more. The distance shortened far more rapidly than Harry had expected and in those moments in seemed as though time sped up. In one moment it was thirty meters and then twenty and then ten, the northmen taking notice and turning to face them.

It didn't save them.

Harry's heavy horse crashed into the northmen like a plated fist crashing into a man's unprotected face. The Lannister lances had dipped on the charge and now a good number of the northern cavalrymen found themselves impaled, whether in an unprotected region like the face or neck or simply because their fur and leather armour hadn't held up against the high quality steel of the Westerlands. Others were sent flying from their horse and quickly met their end as Ser Addam's force surged forward and finished them off with spear and axe and sword and mace. Harry himself had met the northmen first and had brought his blade around with all his might and opened the throat of the first man he passed, blocked axe strike of another with his shield before slamming the pommel of his sword into the man's helmetless head, sending him reeling to the floor where a Serrett spearman hurried forward to spear the man through the throat. Few of the northmen managed to avoid the attack and those that did quickly set to work on trying to defend themselves with little success, before eventually trying to disengage and retreat to their main army after Ser Addam ran his blade between the ribs of a stout, grey haired man wearing the colours of House Karstark.

Perhaps two or three dozen northern horse managed to escape the melee to rejoin their army, the first four lines of which was now getting dangerously close and beginning to charge at them haphazardly. _They would have been better suited to stay on that hill and let us come to them,_ Harry thought idly, before discarding the thought

Harry clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, subconsciously noting that he was picking up on Stannis' habits. Narrowing his eyes, he turned to his men and quickly estimated that Ser Addam had less than a thousand pikemen left and little to no archers. With about five thousand men, Harry figured he could probably hold the against the first wave of northmen before having to either withdraw or die "Form ranks! Pikes in front, men at arms behind!" he bellowed, ordering his men to form a curving line of pikes with one end facing north and the other east "Hold against their center and left! Cavalry, prepare to charge their right, force them into the river!"

"My Lord!" Lyman called, and Harry turned towards him inquisitively "Look! On their left,"

Harry followed his pointing hand and when he saw the banners that had caught his captain's attention, his heart sunk. Not quite as large as the Stark center, the left commanded about a similar number of troops to the northern left flank on the river banks, marching under a waving banner that proudly displayed the blue, twin towers of Frey. Old Lord Walder, it seemed, had joined his men to Stark's and they were facing a larger force than there scouts had reported. The one good thing Harry could think of was that the men on the Stark left were struggling to advance quite as quickly as their counterparts in the center and left, due to the moderately steep incline on that side. The slope made marching or indeed charging a more difficult task than it ought to be and they lagged a little behind the other parts of the army.

With the northern infantry still a little ways away from meeting their hastily formed spear wall, the enemy archers began to pelt their lines with s rain of arrows. The first volley came unexpectedly, and the air was quickly filled with pain filled screams once again as the arrows found their mark. Harry himself barely raised his shield in time to block a pair of arrows that thudded into the wood and stuck there while a third ricocheted off his helm, barely an inch above his right eye. Many other were not so lucky, and a sickening number of men dropped to the ground either injured or dead when arrows found their mark, mainly the less heavily armoured pikemen on the front line.

"Shields up!" Harry cried, and the men at arms hurried to obey, raising their shield over both their own heads and those of the pikemen in front. The knights didn't need to worry as much; plated as they were, the chances of an arrow finding a chink in their armour was slim; but similarly raised their own shields as well. An old saying came back to Harry then, one he felt startlingly appropriate given that he was missing any armour on his legs or arms. _Oak and iron guard me well, else I'm dead and doomed to hell._ He couldn't remember where he'd heard it from.

Another volley came and then another after that, but before a fourth could begin a volley of their own soared over their heads and struck the charging infantry that were by this point but thirty yards away from the crude wall of pikes and running at them full pelt now. Harry watched with some shameful satisfaction as dozens of men on the front line of the Stark forces fell into the ground, others tripping over the sudden dead and dying bodies on the floor before being trampled by the men behind them. Glancing behind him, Harry could see that the Lannister forces had nearly managed to assemble themselves into a some semblance of a formation, their archers forming long lines stretching from the hills on the east to the river on the west, already notching for another volley. With another commander, the army may have already routed, but Tywin Lannister was respected enough that his orders to form up had apparently had an impact. The presence of Gregor Clegane probably helped with that too, and Harry could see the hulking giant of a man even from quite a distance away.

Turning back to the oncoming attack, Harry watched as yet another volley was fired at both sides of the battle before giving a nod to his banner-bearer. The northern center was about to reach the pikes and it was time to begin their attack on the Northmen's right. The standard bearer, a Stackspear knight, returned his nod stoically before blowing his warhorn, signalling to the other cavalry that it was time to begin their charge. It was almost excellent timing; as Harry's heavy knights began to charge down the far shallower incline at the northern right that was attempting to circle up it to surround the pike wall, the centre's of both armies met and Ser Addam's line buckled as the Frey led left flank joined the fight.

On the left, Harry led the knights in their charge against the northern spearmen that had stumbled to a halt upon seeing the charging horses and tried to form ranks to defend themselves. It was a futile attempt, really. Harry's knights crashed against the crude spear wall which held for nothing more than half a second before collapsing under the relentless assault of Harry's men. At the front of the spearhead formation, Harry himself spurred his horse onwards, the cavalry around him ploughing through the northern spearmen like a hot knife through butter, focused on the only mounted man among them. The man had a slightly square shaped frame and was somewhat pot bellied. Harry could see nothing of his face, meaning the only way to identify the man was the orange surcoat upon which a moose was depicted, though Harry couldn't think of which house that belonged to. Harry off-handedly cut down a few men that made an attempt to put a spear through him, easily knocking their clumsy attacks aside with either blade or shield before opening one's throat, removing the head of a second and plunging his blade into the soft flesh between the last man's shoulder and neck before reaching that flank's commander. With an ease that showed just why he was considering one of the best swords of his generation, Harry parried the man's surprisingly quick attack before landing a solid strike across the man's armoured chest as he rode passed at full speed, sending the man flying from his saddle to land in the dirt with a shallow gash from hip shoulder. By this point, the majority of the northern right had begun retreating north along the green fork and the rest where quickly cut down by the far better equipped Lannister men.

Harry kept his gaze on the man in the orange surcoat that he was clutching at his chest and wheezing. A regular blade might have broken a few ribs and sent him flying from the horse, but Harry knew it was only the influence of the Elder Wand that allowed his blade to cut through the man's coat of plate.

Spitting blood out of his mouth, the man spoke with gritted teeth but over the din of the battle, Harry heard nothing "I yield, damn you!" the man shouted a moment later, tossing his battle axe to the floor at the feet of Harry's horse.

Nodding slightly, Harry half turned to one of his men. Orange was clearly highborn and would therefore make a valuable prisoner "Ser Tybolt, escort this man back to the camp as our prisoner,"

Once the grumbling northman was being taken back to the rear lines of their army, Harry looked over at Ser Addam's infantry and cursed. He could see them being overwhelmed. Though the Lannister forces were using long reaching pikes and their men-at-arms were donned in a higher quality armour, the Northmen had ferocity and numbers on their side and it was clearly winning out. Growling in frustration, Harry called his men's attention away from the fleeing Northmen and turned it onto the droves that were assaulting Ser Addam's lines.

"Break their flank!" he yelled, yanking sharply on the reigns to have his horse wheel around "Send them running back to the North!"

Once more Harry led the heavy cavalry in a charge against the enemies lines. This time though their progress was a little more sluggish and slow, their charge not as effective due to the uphill movement sapping the speed with which the cavalry to make a charge. On the other hand, the enemy they were hitting this time were facing away from them and distracting by the vicious fight they were engaged in, and when the horns sounded again, ringing out low and deep, they were joined by a series of others from the south. Flicking his eyes to the side, Harry couldn't help but grin a little at the sight of the main body of Lannister infantry charging into the fray to support Ser Addam. Harry's cavalry and the fresh infantry enveloped the Stark forces, circling around on either side as Ser Addam began pushing the northerners back against the hills. Harry moved almost on autopilot, his sword swinging, stabbing, slashing and hacking left, right and center as it carved through flesh, cleaved through bone, removed limbs and plunged deep into the flesh and innards of his enemy. From atop his horse and wearing his plate armour Harry felt nigh on invincible. He'd never felt so...exhilarated in a fight before. The battle lust, he'd heard it described and he'd never understood it before. Now that he'd fought in his first real battle; knowing now that the brief skirmishes at Darry and the other Riverlands castle's didn't count; he did.

The feeling lasted all through the melee, and not even the screams of the dying nor the piles of Stark and Lannister dead could draw him out of it. The sight of a second wave of northmen, more than twice as large as the first, charging at them as the survivors from the repelled first wave regrouped half a league beyond the Lannister lines.

"Fuck," Harry snarled, before raising his force "Infantry from ranks, hold fast!" he roared "Cavalry, prepare to charge, reform the line!"

Quickly, yet not quickly enough for Harry's comfort, the pikes were once more in a line, far more steady this time and the numbers seemed to be roughly equal. Shouts of "Casterly Rock!" and "Lannister!" filled the air as the cavalry began a swift charge at the enemy, who hastily stopped and readied themselves. There were other shouts, too, as each knight and nobleman shouted for his family name and home, and faintly Harry was aware of the enemy doing the same. Still though the sound of injured men crying out in agony remained the dominant sound, until with a crash the Lannister cavalry hit the front of the second wave of Stark men, and the cold, screeching sound of steel meeting steel overtook the ever growing, ever horrifying sounds of the poor men who hadn't yet been granted death.

Harry urged his men onward, trying to fight through the rush of men to find the enemy commander and end the fight quickly. He was barely even aware of it when the Lannister infantry reached them and started to push the Northmen back. He did, however, notice it when a hail of arrows fell over him, his men and those of the enemy, many finding their mark and bringing them to the ground indiscriminate of whether the target they struck was Northman or Westerman. One such arrow sunk into a gap in the armour on his horses neck and the tall mount collapsed from under him, it's momentum carrying it forward even as it fell and sending Harry flying forwards. He landed with a crash and immediately found himself having to fight with everything he had just to be able to stand. Struggling to stand, Harry glanced around in a panic, barely dodging the swift attack of a northern man at arms and ending the man's life with a sword through the throat. If Robb Stark was anything like his father, ordering his archers to fire into his own men didn't seem like something he would do. But then, as a second volley of projectiles filled the sky, Harry noticed the direction they were coming from.

South.

Gritting his teeth, Harry began fighting his way out of the mass of men around him. Any time a man crossed his path with a weapon raised, he was ruthlessly cut down, though as the minutes passed and the bodies began piling up, Harry found deflecting the attacks of even the untrained levies to be more of a challenge than they ought to be and every time a knight clashed blades with him, a sharp pain ran up his upper arm to match the burning ache on the back of his leg. Raising either sword or shield was starting to take more and more effort the longer the battle went on. Eventually, Harry managed to break out of the Stark lines and into the Lannister ones and found himself side by side with Ser Addam and Ser Lyman, flanked on either side by rows of relentlessly battling infantry, engaged in a melee that seemed to be lasting forever.

It ended rather abruptly when two different sets of horns sounded, both of them from the south. One was the deep and low blast of a warhorn as a massive force of heavy knights and men at arms smashed through the Stark left flank, sending the soldiers there into an immediate rout. The center and the left didn't panic as much, and retreated in a much more orderly fashion, but disengage and back off they did. Harry was forced to use all of his willpower to order his troops not to pursue. He thought it was odd that they would keep attacking and then withdrawing, rather than just attack outright, and an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that following the northern army would be a bad idea.

It was the second horn that confused him, though. It wasn't as deep as the warhorns and not quite as long a sound. Such a horn was used to sound a retreat. Moments later a runner found him, and confirmed his suspicions.

"Ser Harold," the squire gasped out "Your Lord Grandfather has ordered a retreat to the Ruby Ford. Ser Lyle is to command the rearguard,"

Sighing, Harry nodded slightly, and looked over at the force of cavalry that had shattered the Northmen's right. Sure enough the Strongboar could be seen at the head of the column and was organizing his men to repel a northern attack quickly and efficiently "Very well," he said "Men of the West! We're leaving! Retreat to the Ruby Ford,"

Moments later saw Harry and his men moving as fast as they were able while still maintaining a semi-professional formation. As they began to make their way back to where Tywin was waiting with his reserve, a column of cavalry charged past under the lead of an eight foot behemoth in a massive suit of armour. Harry, Ser Addam and the White Lions detached from the withdrawing column of men to watch as the Mountain led the weak and mostly undisciplined force of cavalry that would have been their left flank and vanguard had the battle gone as planned against the now reassembled northern host. Harry had an inkling of what Clegane was doing on such a suicide mission, but kept his thoughts to himself as Ser Addam gazed quizzically after the man as though he'd lost his wits.

When Clegane's force met the northmen in the distance, Harry half expected them to be wiped out easily. Indeed, a good number were and some even switched sides, Harry could tell. However the heavy knights under his command lasted longer than he expected. A lot longer. The Mountain himself and the havoc he must have been causing was surely part of the reason for that happening. Tyrion's clansmen, as far as Harry could tell, were also among those still fighting. Thinking of his uncle brought Harry's attention to the fact that he hadn't seen him all day, and he chewed his lip nervously in fear of his uncles fate.

For a moment it seemed as though Clegane might escape the skirmish alive. When the center of the Stark lines started to be forced backwards, for a heartbeat Harry thought Clegane had done the impossible and forced the Stark's into a retreat. But then left and right flank starting wheeling around and closing in on Clegane's sides, and the missing banners from the battle appeared. The flayed man of Bolton and a merman that Harry recognized as the sigil of house Manderly were flying high above a force of infantry that must have numbered five thousand who marched into Harry's line of sight from around the hills and surged upwards into the unprotected rear flank of Clegane's men. _So that's what they were doing_ , Harry mused, _they sought to have us follow them so they could flank us with their best troops. Clever._ It was an effective tactic. Clegane's men had nowhere to run, and one by one they fell. Clegane was the last to fall, and by the time he did the main Lannister army was making a hasty march in the direction of the ford.

When Clegane fell, Harry knew it was time to leave.

They reached the ford early the next morning and by mid-afternoon they had crossed their entire army. Tywin had forced a night march to gain some ground over the northerners and combined with the fact that they were marching faster than usual anyway and that their army was noticeably smaller now, they'd made good time. As the soldiers were granted a few hours to rest before they had to press onward to rejoin Kevan's force, Harry was summoned to see his grandfather in the dilapidated, burned out ruins of the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Tywin had turned the main room into a council chamber of sorts, though Harry doubted they'd be here long enough to use it as such. Nonetheless, the Lord of Casterly Rock sat at the head of the table, looking over the maps and papers in front of him. Tyrion sat in a seat to his left, and Harry felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd heard his uncle was alive, but with the constant marching he hadn't been able to see for certain. Aside from what looked to be a bad bruise on the side of his head, the Imp of the Rock looked none the worse for wear.

"Nephew," he greeted cheerfully "I hear you were in the thick of it. I'm glad you still seem to have all of your limbs,"

"Uncle," he said tiredly "I hear you weren't, yet you seem injured?"

"My clansmen got over enthusiastic," the dwarf admitted uncomfortably "They knocked me out as they charged to battle,"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by his grandfather "It wasn't twenty five thousand northmen," he said gravely "It was little more than twenty, even with the Frey's. The prisoner you took, Halys Hornwood, was more than happy to confirm my suspicions. They split their army at the Twins,"

"He talked?" Harry had gotten nervous when his grandfather mentioned the Twins. The only purpose to splitting an army there would be to march down the west side of the Green Fork, too, putting them on a straight path to Riverrun. With the feeling that he didn't want to know what his grandfather's suspicions were, he delayed "I didn't think you condoned pointless torture grandfather? Acts of excessive cruelty and ruthlessness, perhaps, but torture?"

"Mind your tongue grandson," his eyes narrowed "He wasn't tortured. He was rather happy to tell me all about their plans and relish in our helplessness to stop them,"

"What plans? And where is the rest of the Stark army?" Tyrion interjected

Tywin didn't answer; he merely shifted his gaze to the door, as though waiting for something. Taking the seat on Tywin's right, Harry settled in to play one of his grandfathers waiting games.

They didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later the door burst open and Uncle Kevan rushed in, still clad in his armour much the same as his three kinsmen in the room with him.

"Tywin," he said desperately "Word from Riverrun..." he trailed off helplessly as Tywin stood with a deep sigh and moved to stare into the fire.

"So I was correct," he drawled "Stark has freed Riverrun and defeated Jaime. My son?"

"We don't know. He left the siege to hunt down raiders and never returned. The camps came under attack a few hours later. Reports are unclear, but it seems as though our army was completely broke,"

Tywin nodded slowly "Harrenhal?"

"Still under Lady Whent's control. The Darry's were slaughtered when they tried to leave, and we faced two separate sortie's. The Mooton's came first and we repelled them with ease and the Cox's and Roote's that followed suffered similarly," Kevan reported "I lost barely any men, but I lacked the numbers to take Harrenhal,"

Tywin nodded once more, tapping his fingers on the table idly. Harry, staring blankly at the table top as he had been ever since hearing of his father's defeat at Riverrun, subconsciously noticed that Tyrion was as pale and wide eyed as he himself felt.

"So be it," Tywin said finally "Prepare the men to march. We will make camp along the Kingsroad north of Antlers,"

"Wait," Harry snapped out his daze at that "We're leaving? They have my father, we can't just retreat..."

Kevan put a hand on his shoulder "There's nothing we can do, Harry. We'll get him back, but we can't right now,"

Harry just shook the hand off and left to find what remained of the White Lions, some two dozen men. He needed to train, take his mind of things.

* * *

 **WILL**

 **King's Landing**

When news came of the Lannister defeat's at the Green Fork and Riverrun, Will knew it wouldn't be long. Joffrey's temper was like a storm, just as unpredictable and dangerous. He wouldn't take the news of their losses well, he knew and he had a feeling he knew who the target of the boy King's anger would be.

So he'd worked fast. He knew he had a few days at most before the King found out about the defeats through official channels and reacted, so Will worked on a very tight time limit. Thankfully, the first half of his plan was easy. After but a few hours of searching, Will had found an acceptable scapegoat. The hard part came in putting him into position and gaining the cooperation of the original target. To do that however, he needed the information that could only be found from one source.

Which was why Will found himself in a meeting with the Master of Whispers. He was using a manse in the city that was owned by the Lannister's that Harry had given him permission to use. Having delivered his proposition, the hunter waited.

Varys giggled "My what an interesting idea this is," he said "Tell me, my Lord, whatever would the young Crown Prince think of such a scheme?"

Will blushed a little and got the uncomfortable feeling that Varys knew far more about their relationship than he should. After Harry had left, Will had continued to teach Tommen how to use a sword and a bow. At first he'd had Arya too, but then Ned Stark had sent her home with Syrio and a good part of his household. In a few months the private sessions had gone from three teachers and three students to one on one sessions between Tommen and Will. Though not the boy's only teacher; as he still took lessons with Aron Santagar and some of the Kingsguard occasionally; Tommen had made no secret of the fact that he liked Will's lessons the best. Flattered though he was, Will still didn't know why the blonde prince liked him so much. Gods knew he hadn't done much to deserve his attention. Still, the prince's apparent infatuation with him was no business of the eunuch's.

"I aim to make sure he never finds out," Will responded dryly "but if he did, I like to think that Tommen is a good enough person to understand. Will you help me?"

"As I told your father many years ago, Lord William, I am not a warrior or a hero," Varys' tone was serious and he continued despite the way Will stiffened at the mention of his father "I listen to my birds and report what they tell me, nothing more,"

Shakily, Will drew a breath "You told Harry once that all you sought was the betterment of the realm. If that's true then help me; this will help bring peace faster,"

"Mayhaps it will, but will such a peace truly be peace? Will it benefit the realm or destroy it? One can never be sure with these things, and must choose carefully,"

Rubbing his forehead and frustrated with the cryptic statements, Will barely kept himself from snapping "I need a way for two people to get into the Black Cells, retrieve something and then for two people to leave, without being seen. Can you help? Will you help?"

"Fear not, my Lord, I shall assist you with your task. Meet me at the ruins of the Dragonpit at midnight," Varys said and turned to leave "I sincerely hope the repercussions for this are worth it, my Lord,"

With that he was gone, and Will blew out a long breath "So do I,"

The hours passed slowly after that. It had been early evening when Varys had left and Will felt he'd paced the length of the main study several hundred times by the time came for him to meet with Varys. Accompanied by two of the most loyal and trustworthy men Will had under his command and joined by his chosen scapegoat; the man limping from a spear wound in the leg and shackled at the wrist, the young archer made his way through the streets of King's Landing dressed as a very well armed commoner. The city was quiet at this time of night, or at least quieter than during the day. Though the vile stench remained, Will couldn't help but feel the capital was more beautiful this way.

They arrived at the Dragonpit a little early, having made good time. Will looking around him in awe. Despite living in the city on and off for two years now, Will had never been inside the ancient building used by the Targaryen's to house their dragons. Now that he was inside, he was struck by the sheer size of the structure. Each of the individual cells or rooms could fit the entire population of Flea Bottom crammed in, and Will's mind brought him to imagining massive, fire breathing winged creatures of all different colours living in this very building. Despite the ruined and crumbling state of the building, Will thought it was magnificent.

"Fantastic, isn't it," a voice whispered from his side and Will whipped around to see a hooded man. When the man pulled the hood back slightly, Will could see the familiar face of Varys, disguised as a gaoler "The Targaryen's hailed from Ancient Valyria, whose technology was and is unmatched. Architecture is simply one way in which their heritage truly shines,"

"Are we ready?"

Without saying a word, Varys turned and slipped through a small gap in the wall that Will hadn't even noticed in the darkness. Grabbing the scapegoat and placing a knife at his back, Will dismissed the other two men. The most trustworthy they may be, but Will wanted as few people as possible to know what he was doing. Shoving the bound and gagged man before him, Will followed Varys down a narrow and steep set of stairs and then along a long, winding and drafty hall. Only the dim light of a small, dying torch carried by Varys lit the way as they walked, that torch being the only source of light they had. Still, Varys never faltered and before long they were in an even darker area, the sides of this one marked by thick wooden doors. Varys led him halfway along the hall and opened a door on the left, quickly beginning work on lighting a brighter torch.

When the fire lit, Will got the first look at the Warden of the North he'd had for a while now. Shoving the scapegoat to the floor of the cell, Will turned to the haggard looking Northman.

"Lord Stark," he greeted "It's William Buckwell. I have an offer for you,"

* * *

 **HARRY**

 **The Kingsroad**

It was late at night when the Lords bannermen of the Westerlands convened after the news arrived. News from both Riverrun, King's Landing, Dragonstone and Highgarden that was too dire not to be discussed immediately.

"We have received confirmation that after leading a sortie to deal with a raiding party, Ser Jaime Lannister was captured by Robb Stark and a force of heavy horse at what is being called the Battle of the Whispering Wood. Two thirds of his army were completely destroyed at the following Battle of the Camps. Andros Brax drowned in the Tumblestone; Quentin Banefort, Tytos Brax, Willem Lannister, Tion and Cleos Frey, Garth Greenfield, Regenard Estren and others were captured by the Northmen. Forley Prester retreated into the west with four thousand men," Kevan sat back into his seat after delivering his report.

Harry winced at the thought of his father being held hostage by Robb Stark, especially with the news that had just arrived from King's Landing earlier that evening.

The loss at Riverrun were bad enough. With over twelve thousand men killed, many lords dead or captured including one of their best commanders and fighters, and a thousand mercenaries and freeriders defected to join the Northmen the result of the battle outside Riverrun was nothing short of a disaster. To make things worse, their losses on the Green Fork had been significant on a ridiculous level. In total they'd lost seven thousand men while reports from Ser Addam's scouts indicated that the Northmen had lost little over half that amount. Now they had nearly ten thousand cavalry at Riverrun, well positioned to strike at the vulnerable Westerlands as well as nearly twenty thousand fortified on the north side of the Ruby Ford, plus whatever could join them from Harrenhal.

"This is a disaster," Harys Swyft wailed miserably "Ser Jaime defeated, us defeated cut off from the west by two different armies...why did he split his forces into three camps? Is he a fool?" Harry's fists clenched at that.

"Have you ever been to Riverrun, Ser Harys?" Kevan questioned "If the Tully's open their portcullis then Riverrun is turned into a small island. Three camps is the only way to siege the castle. Jaime did nothing wrong,"

"What do we do now?" Lord Lefford asked "We can't face the North in open battle anymore. Do we fall back to King's Landing?"

"They will need our swords to repel Renly when he marches," Ser Addam mused thoughtfully "Especially if Stannis is also planning on claiming the throne,"

Word had come in recently that Renly Baratheon had declared himself King; on what grounds, Harry had no idea, and he worried for his one time friends sanity; and married Margaery Tyrell. Already, a massive host of Stormlords and Reachmen was being raised at Highgarden. All estimates said that it was approaching sixty thousand men. With the coin and food stuffs of the Reach behind him, as well as such a huge army, Renly might already be damn near unstoppable. Still, Harry prided himself on being nothing if not tenacious (though some would just say stubborn) and he refused to allow the former Master of Laws to place his little cousins heads on spikes just to appease Renly's arrogance and ambition.

No word had been received from Dragonstone, but rumor had it that Stannis Baratheon was hiring sellswords, calling his banners and constructing even more ships. Despite the lack of an army on Dragonstone, and the very large one in the Reach, Harry knew that it was Stannis his grandfather feared.

"Bugger that," the Strongboar blurted "If we run to King's Landing, then they're free to attack the west unopposed,"

"You suggest we fight, Ser Lyle?" Flement Brax asked

"If we force them to come to us on our terms then numbers mean nothing, especially not if we could keep their hosts apart!" Crakehall shouted

"Could we raise another force in the west?" Lefford asked

Harry spoke up in answer "We could but it would take time and even then they'd be the sweepings of the west," he said "Still, it may be worth it anyway. We should send a raven as soon as possible,"

"What about peace," Swyft exclaimed suddenly "Could we sue for peace,"

The sound of shattering glass drew their attention to Tyrion, sitting at the other head of the table.

"There's your peace," he said, pointing at the shattered goblet he'd knocked onto the floor "You'd have as much chance getting peace from the northerners as you would drinking from that glass. With Ned Stark alive we had a chance. But my sister and nephew saw to that when they had him killed,"

Harry winced at that too. The message from King's Landing claimed that Eddard Stark had died of poor health in the Black Cells. Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe that though. Either his beloved aunt or his delightful cousin had a hand in the man's death, most likely the latter but possible the former or even both. Regardless, Harry wasn't stupid enough to allow his aunt's honeyed words to deceive him and he doubted the Starks would either. The thought of what might happen to his father in response to this sent a jolt of fear through Harry's heart.

"They have my son," Tywin ground out, before raising his voice a fair bit "They have my son! Get out, all of you. Harry, Kevan, Tyrion; you stay," Tywin waited until the assembled bannermen had left the tent and dispersed among the camp before he spoke "You are right of course; peace will be impossible now, else I might be tempted to negotiate with the Stark boy,"

"You admire him," Kevan accused

"Part of his victory of us is that we underestimated him, but such a plan was still rather brilliant," Tywin conceded "I have some respect for that," he turned his attention back to the topic at hand "Killing Ned Stark was stupid; whether he died by accident or was killed, we'll find ourself blamed for this,"

"What do we do?" Kevan asked

"Lord Lefford's idea of a new army had merit. With your leave I'll have a raven sent to Ser Daven with instructions to raise a new host,"

"Send it later. We still have business," Tywin told him "Cersei has demanded I come to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King. She won't say it, be she can't control her son and needs me to do it for her. I'm needed here, to make sure the Northmen can't march into the Crownlands. Kevan, I want you to raise an army from the Crownlands,"

Harry, if Cersei is incapable of reeling in her son then I have every faith you'll live up to the task. I'm sending you to rule in my stead, taking three thousand men with you to bolster the defense of the city. You are to bring Joffrey to heel and keep an eye on those worms on the council; Varys, Baelish, Pycelle if any of them play you false you know what to do. Tyrion..."

"No,"

Tywin came to an immediate halt in his speech and both Tyrion and Kevan turned to look at him with aghast and shocked expressions.

"Excuse me, grandson,"

"I said no," Harry declared "We did things your way, and we lost. Now we do it my way. I told you what Joffrey was and you didn't believe me. Go to King's Landing, take a force to help defend it and watch him. Make your own decision; I'll command the army here and try and deal with the northerners my way. Take Tyrion to Kings Landing too, to serve in my old position as Master of Ships,"

There was a ringing silence throughout the tent as Harry finished speaking. Tyrion was looking anywhere but his father or nephew, quietly sipping from a goblet of wine. Kevan was staring at him, his expression an odd mix of horror and a little respect. Tywin; Harry swallowed nervously at the piercing glare that was being sent at him by his grandfather. It wasn't the first time he'd stood up to his grandfather over one issue or another, but it was the first time he'd done so in front of other people and also the first time he'd ever outright said 'no'. But in this case, Harry knew he was in the right and kept his gaze locked with his grandfather's, his entire posture rigid and unmoving, just as his position on the matter was.

"So be it," Tywin said lowly "We'll do it your way grandson," the man stood to leave and Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding "But don't ever presume to command me again,"

* * *

 **Like I said, this chapter was supposed to be part of the last one, so if it feels out of place then that's why.**

 **So the Lannister's lose the Green Fork and Tywin's the one who's going to King's Landing, not just Tyrion. And w** **ould anyone like to have a guess as to what Will's doing?**

 **The Karstark's: In the books, Rickard has four kids; two sons, Torrhen and Eddard, who Jaime kills at the Whispering Wood, a son Harrion who is held prisoner by the Lannister's and a daughter Alys who Jon marries to the new Thenn leader. In the show, he also had three sons and a daughter, but their fates and names are different; Torrhen is strangled during Jaime's escape attempt in season 2, Harrion dies in a battle sometime (basically takes Eddard's place), and Harrion is replaced by Harald (Season 6 Karstark guy). For this story, I've sort of mixed the two versions. He has four sons and a daughter; Harrion, Torrhen and Eddard fight in the Whispering Wood, while Harald is back at Karhold in the North with Alys.**

 **Loghain Mac Tir: I don't mind her. Some things she does are stupid, others alright. She's not a major character in this so I haven't really thought on it much**

 **coldblue: 1)It's kind of not outright stated, but Rickard's fate can be found in the Green Fork battle 2) oh yes, absolutely. essential plot point 3) this will most likely happen 4) Valar Morghulis 5) Balon? Maybe not, that might be resolved before Harry can deal with it. Euron; oh yes absolutely 6) I think that will be an interesting conversation 7) Oathkeeper only ends up with Brienne because it goes to Jaime first. Might not happen this time**

 **Child of Dreams: er...**

 **Separ: Maybe it's not Robb that'll be able to 'keep it in their pants'**

 **Chosen-One-92: Yup they will**

 **Murdough: Huh, must have gotten my timelines mixed up. Put it down to Harry doing the same thing**

 **1529: Not exactly; Tywin isn't a nice guy but I wouldn't put him on Hitler level. And after Tywin, none of the other Lannister family are all that bad, if you look at them. Cersei and Joffrey are the two exceptions, and as it turns out they're the one he doesn't actually care about.**

 **WeylandCorp4: *Whistling innocently***

 **Emporer Vanquest: Harry gets a magic overload next chapter.**

 **Everyone else: Thanks for your reviews, glad you're all enjoying it.**

 **That's it for now. Cya next time. Yozza out.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Holy hell, it's been a while since I updated this. Sorry about that folks. A Level's happened and I had to focus on preparing and then doing that. But, I'm back. So without further adieu, here we go.**

 **Oh also, I've aged Harry up a bit so that the timeline of the rebellion makes more sense. When I've got the time, I'll go back and adjust all the references to Harry's age in the previous chapters to match. As of right now, Harry was seventeen at the beginning of the story and has since had his eighteenth birthday, making him nearly two full years older than Robb, Dany and Jon.  
**

 **Oh and I've got a problem with my spell check not working, so there's bound to be a fair few errors in this that I missed when reading over it. Apologies for that.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.**

* * *

Chapter 7  


 **Robb  
**

 **Riverrun**

A young, auburn haired boy; not yet seventeen; stood atop the battlements of Riverrun and sucked in a deep breathe of fresh air as his shoulders sagged in relief. He'd done it. He'd won the battle, two of them for that matter, and he'd done it decisively. While he knew that the war was far from over, as his father had not yet been freed and the Lannisters had yet to be paid back for the damage they inflicted to the Riverlands, Robb couldn't help but feel as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders with this first victory, because despite the confidence he had outwardly displayed, Robb had been terrified. So much could have gone wrong; one of the Kingslayer's outriders could have alerted him to their approach, Tywin could have seen through the ruse and rushed to defend his son, the army besieging Riverrun could have inflicted far more damage to his host than they did or executed his uncle and the other prisoners at the first sign of trouble.

But they hadn't, and the plan had worked perfectly.

Still though, Robb thought, as he looked over the rushing blue waters of the Red Fork river below him and the abandoned encampment beyond it that served as testament to the siege that had been in place only days before, he still needed to plan for future battles and the time he had for rest was brief. The result of the battle on the Green Fork was still unknown to him, so Robb was working on the assumption that it had been a complete defeat for his own forces. If that was the case, then the Lannister's had near twenty-five thousand men near Harrenhal to combat his own forces, which after the two battles numbered nearly eleven thousand men.

When his army had camped at the Twins, he'd had seven thousand heavy horse; a mix of Frey and Northern; of which five hundred had ridden with Lord Karstark while the rest had crossed the Twins and rushed down the length of the Riverlands to get to Riverrun in time to end the siege there. Along the way they had been joined by the knights of Seaguard led by Ser Patrek Mallister in addition to another several hundred heavy horse from the Paege's of Fairmarket and a number of minor lords. By the time they reached the wooded copse that had become known as the Whispering Wood, their numbers had risen by a full thousand, and then bolstered yet again by the addition of three hundred survivors from the battle at Riverrun, mainly archers commanded by Riverrun's captain of the Guard Robin Ryger. With nearly eight thousand men the smaller of the two northern hosts had descended upon the Kingslayer and his knights, leaving none to flee. All of them had been either cut down or captured, including Ser Jaime himself who had been defeated by the duo of SmallJon Umber; named to distinguish him from his father the GreatJon, nevermind that the younger was nearly as tall as the elder; and Dacey Mormont, the heir of Bear Island. By the time the Lannister's knew what was happening it had already happened and ten Lannister knights had been slain for every one of Robb's, or so Theon boasted.

Unfortunately the battle was not without it's consequence's. Though Robb's own losses numbered less than two hundred they included the second son of house Karstark, Eddard, and the Hornwood heir, Daryn as well as half a dozen other nobles that the Kingslayer had cut down with frightening ease. Torrhen, Eddard's twin, had been distraught. Robb couldn't imagine what it would be like to see one's brother cut down so mercilessly and didn't know how he would ever be able to look either Harrion, Torrhen or Lord Rickard in the eyes again. Edd, named after his father, had died to protect him after all as had Daryn. He wouldn't say they were friends, not yet, but they were close. He had ridden with both Hornwood's and each of the Karstark's at one point or another during the march and had eaten and drank with Daryn and the younger Karstark's on several occasions.

Robb felt he finally understood the pain in his father's eyes when the man talked about the friends he'd lost in the rebellion.

Still, despite his inner turmoil Robb was still acting Lord of Winterfell and had to remain strong. He'd done so after the battle, forcing his army forwards into their next battle not even after an hour after the massacre at the Whispering Woods. Lifting the siege of Riverrun had been even easier than defeating Ser Jaime remarkably and they'd lost even less men than they had in the previous fight. The North camp had collapsed the moment Ser Brynden's charge had hit them. Disorganized, surprised and leaderless they were slaughtered to a man as they tried to flee, caught between the raging Tumblestone and the onslaught of the Blackfish. The south-eastern camp was a little more difficult as they had managed to form a small defense but it didn't hold for long. Most of the men in that camp had tried to cross to the river on rafts to support the northern camp. The men who hadn't yet done so were attacked from both sides as Tytos Blackwood led a sortie and joined Robb in the battle. The men who tried to cross fared little better. The rafts that were sunk as they sailed by Riverrun's catapult's. Of their commander, Andros Brax, there was no sign. His raft had been sunk but no body had been found yet; even so, while it was possible he could have swam ashore and fled, Robb found it unlikely given that the man had been wearing full plate armour.

Only the west camp had escaped the battle unscathed. They'd retreated to the south as soon as word the other camps had fallen. Even then, they did not retreat with the full strength they'd had before the battle. Nearly a thousand sellsword and freeriders had abandoned the Lannisters and joined Robb's cause. Though wary, Robb was well aware that those men could be invaluable. Additional support came from Marq Piper and Karyl Vance, both of whom had arrived at Riverrun that morning with a hundred riders each and Jonos Bracken who was making his way there from the east with four hundred spearmen.

Overall, Robb estimated he'd lost about three hundred men across two battle, while at the same time depriving the Lannister's of twelve thousand of theirs. By anyone's standards, it was impressive. Whatever else happened, he could be proud of that.

"My Lord," he heard from his left, and turning he found his squire Olyvar standing there. A folded piece of parchment was held in his hands. The seal was broken but Robb could make out the Lannister lion anyway. Something about his squire's eyes made Robb wary. They were downcast and melancholy "My condolence's, my Lord," he said, handing the letter over and hurrying off.

Warily, Robb opened the scroll and as he read through it's contents he felt like both roaring in anger and sobbing in anguish.

 _All of this,_ he thought miserably, _all of this for nothing._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 **Harry**

 **The Kingsroad**

It happened the night after Lord Tywin and his retinue left for King's Landing.

After several days of marching, the Lannister army; which now consisted of eighteen thousand men, give or take a few hundred; had come to a stop several miles south of the border of the Crownlands, just a little ways north of Antlers, the seat of House Buckwell. The position allowed them to control the Kingsroad and effectively block any unfriendly armies from marching very far into the Crownlands, while also leaving both Harrenhal and Maidenpool within striking distance should they need to go on the offensive. It was here that the Lord of Casterly Rock left the bulk of the army in the hands of his grandson, while he, his dwarf son and a force of about three thousand men; consisting of knights, men at arms and the remainder of Tyrion's clansmen; set off for King's Landing. Ser Kevan had gone with them, guarded by a company of a dozen knights and half a score of men at arms. Kevan, though, wasn't heading to King's Landing. He would accompany his brother and nephew as far south as Antlers before branching off and visiting the most prominent lords of the region in the hopes of gathering a new army at Duskendale.

They had left mid-morning and Harry had spent the rest of the day preparing the army. Rations were tightened even further because without food being supplied to the capital from the rest of the Kingdom, King's Landing would be forced to rely on tributes from it's own, direct bannermen. Which in turn limited the amount of food available to the Lannister army. Fortifications were set up about half a mile north of their encampment; trenches were dug, stakes were planted and Harry had a strict rotation of sentry's, to the extent that ten pairs of eyes were watching each direction every hour of the day, including the south. The men who weren't setting camp, preparing meals or fortifying their position were being put through drills on a level they had never experienced before. Tywin Lannister was a harsh taskmaster and both training and marching under him was brutal. There were very few who pushed their men as hard as Tywin Lannister did, and even fewer who pushed them further.

By the end of the day, the men of the west had concluded that Harold Lannister was even worse than his grandfather, in that respect.

Harry, for his part, wanted to avoid the risk of another mass rout that had nearly occurred at the Green Fork.

It was as Harry was preparing to climb into his sleeping roll that night that everything changed.

It had started with an intense heat surging through his body. At first, Harry had only felt a little too warm to be comfortable but it soon developed into an unbearable heat. As he wiped the rapidly forming sweat from his brow, Harry wondered if he hadn't somehow spontaneously developed a fever. But the heat only grew, far past the point any fever Harry had ever heard had ever reached and before long it felt as though his skin was blistering from the inside out. The heat was soon joined by a searing pain all over his body; his head began pounding; every muscle, bone and nerve felt as though they'd been set on fire and stretched thin and torn to shreds. In the midst of it all, it felt as though something was trying to get out.

Even as he whimpered in pain; at this point he couldn't even muster the focus to be embarrassed about his own reactions; somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry was aware enough to realize that if that 'something' should escape while he was in the middle of his army's encampment, then nothing good would come of it. Despite this realization, Harry couldn't move. Even trying to sent a sharp jolt of pain racing through his entire body. In his desperation, Harry did something he hadn't managed to do since leaving his original world behind.

He apparated.

He had no clear destination in mind; for that matter, nothing about his mind was clear at that point, everything around him was little more than a pain filled haze. All he knew was that he was away from his men, away from any form of civilization. Harry finally allowed himself to scream. Within seconds his throat was raw and hoarse. With that scream something within him awoke. A massive pulse of pure magic exploded out of him in an uncontrollable burst, sending rippling shockwave's of corporeal magical energy out in every direction. The effect lasted for no more than a few seconds yet it felt like years before the magical explosion burned itself out.

Harry collapsed onto his back and darkness overtook him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 **Robb**

 **Riverrun**

Visiting the Godswood of Riverrun had provided some peace to him. After Olyvar had delivered the news of his father's death to him, Robb and a number of his bannermen had made their way to the Godswood to pray for their liege. It wasn't quite the same as the one in Winterfell; the slender and sleek wierwood that served as the castle's hearttree was not as large as Winterfell's and the area allotted to the wood was not so vast either. But then Robb didn't think any Godswood south of Moat Cailin could ever be as grand as that of Winterfell. Still, Robb had silently knelt before the heart tree and prayed for the father he had now lost. He'd been joined by the Lady Mormont and her daughters, both GreatJon and SmallJon Umber, the Lords Cerwyn, Bolton and Glover, Harrion Karstark, Hallis Mollen, Wendel Manderly and the other nobles that rode with his army. Surprisingly enough, Tytos Blackwood and his two eldest son's had joined them as well, and Robb had learned that the Blackwood's still worshipped the Old Gods. They were the only house in the south to still do so. Lucas Blackwood had later told him that a great wierwood tree had once stood proudly at Raventree Hall, before it was poisoned by the Bracken's.

That had been hours ago and despite the grief that he still felt, he did feel somewhat calmer and more in control of himself.

They were in Riverrun's Great Hall. Uncle Edmure sat in the Lord's chair at the centre of the high table with Robb sitting to his right and the Blackfish and Riverrun's Maester on his left. Robb's mother was seated on Robb's other side. In the hall below them, every nobleman that had either fought beside Robb or joined them after the battle was present. Two long wooden tables had been set up, one of either side of the hall. The Riverlords occupied one, on the left side of the hall while the northmen took the rightmost table. All the principle Lords of each region had a seat, as did their family members. The only exception was the Blackwood family, who had chosen to sit with the Northern Lords instead.

The meeting had been going for nigh on three hours now. Though it had been, barely, light when they started the sun had long since set and the last vestiges of light was hidden behind the horizon. Heated would be too mild a word for the tone of the discussion in the hall. It seemed everyone is the room felt inclined to pitch in, every Lord present taking full advantage of their right to speak. Ser Quincey Cox had sent word from Saltpans on the outcome of the battle at the Green Fork, news that was both welcome and troublesome. The good news was that the battle had been a success. Lord Karstark had forced a night march and his troops had taken the Lannisters unaware. The cavalry, few though they were, had struck hard and fast and the infantry had fallen on the Lannister lines before they were even finished forming ranks. Before long, the mighty Tywin Lannister had been sent running back to King's Landing with his tail between his legs and seven thousand dead Lannister's left behind them, including the Mountain. On the other hand, Rickard Karstark had fallen in battle and they'd lost nearly four thousand of their own in order to achieve such a victory, including nearly all of the cavalry in that army. Halys Hornwood and Jared Frey had been captured by the Lannisters while Benfrey and Raymond Frey, Medgar Cerwyn and Mallador Umber had all been slain. Robett Glover now had command of the Northern infantry and was marching them to the Ruby Ford.

Word had also come from the south. Renly Baratheon had sent a raven from Highgarden declaring himself King and demanding fealty. Reports placed his numbers at about seventy thousand men, a force that was twice as large as any other army currently in the field. Some advocated marching east and taking the fight to Tywin Lannister. Others, like the young and fiery tempered Marq Piper argued for striking west and taking Casterly Rock to pay the Lannister's back in kind for what they'd done to the Riverlands while the wiser and more patient Lord Mallister advocated waiting for a time and allowing their troops to recover from the recent battles.

"Riverrun sits across the Lannister supply lines," he said "We should give our men a chance to recover while we deny Tywin Lannister fresh levies and supplies,"

Tytos Blackwood, with his raven feather cloak, refused to even consider it. He felt they should finish what they had started in the Whispering Wood and march to Harrenhal, regroup with Robett Glover's army and move their joint force against the Lannister army. Of course, what Blackwood said, Bracken vehemently disagreed with. Robb sighed slightly at the enmity between the two houses; it was even more fierce than the rumors had made it out to be. It would prove a significant challenge to keep the peace between the two.

"The path before us is clear," the Lord of Stone Hedge announced "We should march south with all haste and join our strength to Renly's, and from there march against King's Landing itself,"

Robb felt compelled to speak up at that. He had been quiet so far, listening to his bannermen and his uncle's debate back and forth between them. He could keep his silence no longer "Renly is not the King," he said simply.

"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my Lord?" Lord Glover said incredulously "He had your father murdered in his cell,"

"Joffrey is no true King," Karyl Vance spat "He didn't even have the courage to give Lord Stark a clean death,"

"That makes him evil," Robb replied, carefully making sure his face remained passive and cold "I do not know that it makes Renly King. Joffrey is still Robert's trueborn son and even if his head is placed on a spike, and I mean to see that it is, Robert had two trueborn sons. I confess my first thought had been to seat Tommen on the Iron Throne in Joffrey's place,"

"Tommen is no less a Lannister than his brother!" Ser Marq spat.

"Maybe so, though if my sister is to be trusted then he is nothing like his brother. But even if we remove Tommen, still how can Renly be King? Renly is the youngest Baratheon brother. Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be King before Stannis,"

"Lord Stannis does have the better claim," Lady Mormont mused, and received a murmur of agreement from Blackwood and Glover.

"But Renly is crowned and has the might of Storm's End and Highgarden backing his claim. The Dornish will not be far behind and if we add our strength to his cause it will be five of the Great Houses united behind a single cause, six if the Vale bestirs itself. Six of the seven kingdoms against the Rock. I tell you now my Lords if you join with Renly, then within a year we will have all their heads on spikes; the boy king and his brother, the queen Lord Tywin, the Imp, Ser Kevan, the Kingslayer and his bastard; all of them! That is what will happen if we join Renly. What does Stannis have against that?" Marq Piper said passionately. Robb could see Karyl Vance, Jason Mallister and Marq's father Clement nodding at the young knight's words.

"The better claim," he responded tersely

"So you mean to declare for Stannis?" his uncle asked, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

"I don't know," Robb confessed, feeling conflicted. Allying with Renly would give them the best chance of winning the war but to support him would be dishonorable. Stannis had the better claim and even then, he was not next in line for the Throne. He would never bend to Joffrey but had thought Tommen would be a suitable substitute; but it was clear now though that none of the Riverlords would accept a King with Lannister blood.

"My father would urge caution," the weasel faced Ser Stevron Frey said "Let these two Kings fight and bleed each other, Stannis too if he involves himself. When a victor emerges, we can support or oppose him as we see desire. My Lords, with Renly amassing an army to the south I'm sure Lord Tywin would welcome a truce. Let us send an envoy to discuss ransoms..."

Frey didn't get the chance to finish "Craven!" the GreatJon roared, the first time the large man had spoken in sometime. He had been uncharacteristically quiet.

"Ser Frey may not be wrong," Roose Bolton interjected and all talk in the room died as the Lords listened to his words "I would not advocate a peace, not after so many good northmen and Riverlanders died to bring us this far. But we need not pledge our support to either Baratheon brother yet. We should wait; continue to bleed the Lannisters; and then, when Stannis and Renly finish fighting each other and the victor takes King's Landing, we can swear allegiance to them,"

There was some muttering between the Lords, much of it agreement. With great relief, Robb thought they may have finally found a solution. It wasn't the most noble or honorable, but it removed the need for them to choose between Stannis and Renly while allowing them to continue their war on the Lannisters. The relief lasted until Tytos Blackwood spoke up.

"Unlikely though it is," the sable haired man said "What if both Renly and Stannis should both fall, either to each other or to Tywin Lannister? What happens if the Lion prevails over the stag? What do we do then?"

"Then we make do, and put Tommen on the Iron Throne," Lord Mallister proposed eventually

"Piss on that, Jason!" Bracken shouted angrily "The Lannister's left my home a smouldering ruin, burned my lands, slaughtered my cattle and butchered my people. My own natural son, Harry, died to a Lannister blade. Decide what you want, my Lords, but know that I will never again bend my knee to a Lannister!"

"Nor I, I never will," Marq Piper agreed, and soon after Tytos Blackwood did as well; surprising everyone in the hall; and then the rest of the Lord too.

Just as Robb began to despair that the meeting would never reach a conclusion, the GreatJon stood.

"My Lords," he boomed and when they did not listen, he repeated himself even louder than before "MY LORDS! Here's what I say to these two kings," he spat. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the wall or the wolfswood? Even their Gods are wrong!"

There was some laughter and jeering from those who worshipped the Old Gods, while those who worshipped the Seven glared daggers at the man and yelled in slight anger and outrage. But Lord Umber was not yet finished and as he spoke again he pulled his massive sword free of it's scabbard "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, but the dragons are dead. There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to," he had pointed his blade at Robb, which had caused the young man to tense and stop breathing for a moment as the GreatJon's words registered "The King in the North!"

There was half a seconds silence as the assembled Lords processed this new turn. Robb made to speak, but before he could Galbart Glover was standing and drawing his blade too "I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle and their iron chair, too. The King in the North!" the man shouted as he knelt beside GreatJon.

Slowly, Robb rose to his feet as though in a trance. He saw Maege Mormont draw her spiked mace and roar "The King of Winter!" and kneel too and then the hall was a flurry of movement. Roose Bolton, Wendel Manderly and Hallis Mollen stood and added their voices to the chant as did the Karstark brothers Harrion and Torrhen, SmallJon and Dacey and Theon all kneeling and declaring him King. The Riverlords were declaring for him too Tully, Bracken, Blackwood, Mallister, Piper, Vance and Frey, who had never before been ruled from Winterfell, all rising and drawing their blades, all declaring him King in the North and, he heard shouted from somewhere, the King on the Trident, too. All of them shouting words that hadn't been heard in nearly three hundred years, since Aegon the Conqueror had subdued the North in his quest to unite Westeros.

"The King in the North! THE KING IN THE NORTH! _THE KING IN THE NORTH!_ "

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 **Harry  
**

 **Unknown Location  
**

After losing consciousness after his magical overload, Harry dreamt. The dreams that came to him as he lay there were strange and unnerving. In many ways they reminded him of the visions he'd used to have of Voldemort back in his old life leading him to believe they were more visions than dreams in the conventional sense. The only difference between those old visions and these new ones was that instead of watching events unfold through the eyes of another person, these visions were more like a series of quick flashes from the viewpoint of a bodiless observer and they were not limited to a single time or place.

They seemed to start in the past and were longer than those that would follow. The first image he was shown was of the Red Keep, in King's Landing. The decorations were different but it was most definitely the royal appartments. One of the most handsome men Harry had ever seen was stood in the room alongisde his Dornish wife, holding a small bundle in his arms . With long silver hair, a pale and sharp featured face and deep indigo eyes the man seemed to have come straight out of a maiden's dreams. It was more than obvious who the man was; his father had described Prince Rhaegar often enough that he was unmistakable now, despite the fact that Harry had never met the man. The women next to him then would be Elia Martell and the child either Rhaenys or Aegon, the latter of whom had apparently been born only a month after Harry himself had been.

"What shall his name be, my love?" Elia asked and her use of the male pronoun told Harry that it was Rhaegar's son, Prince Aegon; doomed to an awful fate at the hands of the Mountain; he was seeing, shortly after his birth.

"Aegon," Rhaegar replied after barely a moments thought "He shall be named Aegon; what better name for a King?"

"Will you write a song for him?"

"He already has one. His is the song of ice and fire, for he is the Prince Who Was Promised," he stopped and seemed melancholy for a moment, a look that appeared to fit the prince far better than cheer did "It is not enough. There must be one more. The dragon must have three heads," after that ambiguous final statement, which gave Harry a very ominous feeling, the vision changed and Harry found himself looking at a godswood somewhere he did not recongnize. Standing before the heart tree was the very same prince from the previous vision and in the background were two figures clad head to toe in gleaming white armour. The only identifying mark was that one of them had a black bat on the front of his helm.

There was a woman there, too, standing in front of Rhaegar and looking at him with absolute adoration. She was young, a year or two younger than Harry at most, and beautiful in a simplistic way, with long features and dark hair. There was something familiar about her. As Harry watched, they spoke.

"I am hers, and she is mine," Rhaegar spoke solemnly.

"I am his and he is mine," the girl said, her accent marking her a northerner, and Harry began to suspect the identity of this women.

After that, the visions took him to a land that seemed to be very far away, surrounded by grassy plains and sandy dunes, with a number of large, savage looking men with strange curved swords and longhair; Dothraki, his mind supplied; kneeling in deference to a young, naked girl with silver blonde hair and eyes of the deepest blue Harry had ever seen. Hanging onto the girls body were three small reptilian creatures of a similar size to a cat, with long necks and tails, leathery wings and spikes running along their backs. Even someone who had only heard about dragons would be able to indentify the creatures as such and Harry had the memories of actually meeting one during the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year at Hogwarts. The girl, Harry suspected, was Danaerys Targaryen. She was the only remaining female Targaryen Harry knew of, and while people of Valyrian descent were common enough to find only the documented dragon riders during the past three hundred years had been Targaryen's. The presence of the Dothraki helped to confirm his suspicions, for Harry knew the Targaryen girl had been wed to a warlord within the past year.

Harry saw more than just the rebirth of dragons though. A series of images flashed across his vision, some unnerving, others confusing due to their seeming unimportance. He saw a group of purple lipped men in a grand foreign city rejoicing; he saw a one eyed man captaining a ship a of men without mouths; glass candle's made an appearance as did a blue haired boy in what Harry recognized to be Braavos. He was shown images of a crimson haired woman, dressed all in red whispering into the ear of grim faced Stannis Baratheon as dark magic clouded around the both of them and the sreams of burning men echoed around them. Even worse was when part of the scene shifted, seeming to show the future or at least a version of it. While the red woman continued to whisper to Stannis, the man was now sitting on the Iron Throne was the screaming figures became people he knew. He saw himself, his father, aunt, uncle, grandfather and royal cousins all tied to great pyres in front of the burning Sept of Baelor and though unconcious Harry felt sick at the sight.

The image blurred and the next thing Harry could see was a vast army camping out beyond a mountain range in the far north. The camp spanned easily a hundred miles in every direction and there was a good mix of men and women; whether old or young; and children within it, all wrapped in thick, snow coated furs. Giant figures that easily stood at fifteen feet tall wandered among the camp; apparently the giants in this world were not as large as even the trolls of his original one and while there was a distinct lack of horses there was a range of other animals to make up for it including what looked to be polar bears, sabertooth tigers and most astonishingly mammoths. Even in the wizarding world Harry had never seen such a creature and they were awe-inspiring. Perhaps not on the same level as the first time he saw a dragon or unicorn but impressive nonetheless. The vision though directed him away from the main encampment and to a location a ways away, to where a group of men stood around what had clearly been a dig site of some sort. A younger man with dark hair was kneeling in the snow and removing a small thick wooden box from it's burial place in the ice, looking up and handing it to a rather unremarkable man with plain brown hair, who's black cloak had a streak of red material running through it.

More visions followed; a great wierwood, far bigger than anyother he had ever seen standing along upon an otherwise barren snow covered hill followed shortly after he was shown the dig site. He saw an old man with silver hair entombed within the thick and deeply buried roots of a tree, surrounded by a small, almost elven looking folk with greenish skin.

The final vision was a horrifying one, even more so than some of those that had come previously. The snow here was thicker than even that at the wildling encampment, the land even more bare. It looked like no place Harry had ever heard of before. The only landmark Harry could see was a mountain ridge even farther in the distance with the faint shadowy, silouhette of a fortress resting on top of it. In between Harry and the fortress though stood rows upon rows of the dead. They stood as though alive even as their skin rotted and their bodies fell apart. Some were clearly fresh, bearing grotesque injuries while others were nothing more than bone. Harry flew over the top of them, as though looking through the eyes of a bird, so fast it was impossible to count their numbers but he knew that it must be hundreds of thousands. His flight came to an end before long and he realised that he was seeing the inside of the fortress he'd seen from the distance. He now wished he hadn't. For the fortress was made almost entirely of ice and sitting on a jagged throne of bone and ice sat a pale blue creature. A barbed crown ringed his head yet seemed to be made of the same ice-like substance as the rest of his body and fused to him besides.

Then the creaure turned it's haunting blue eyes on him and Harry woke with a feeling of terror in his gut.

The first thing he became aware of after he had calmed his frantic breaths and his pounding heart began to settle was his surroundings. He was sitting on the edge of a glade of dead grass with tree's standing tall to either side of him, a fair few of them having had their trunks in two. Forward of his resting place the grass ended and a pebble beach began running downwards until it met a large body of crystal blue water. Harry frowned, trying to recall how he had gotten here. All he remembered was pain which Harry found singularly unhelpful in determining where exactly he was.

"Your are on the Isle of Faces," a voice called out and Harry sprung to his feet unsheathing the dagger he kept on his side at all times. Before he could so much as assume a defensive stance he found the tip of a longsword against his throat "Fast reflexes; that's good. It makes my job easier by far,"

Harry swallowed and tried not to move too much. He knew of the Isle of Faces. Few had ever been there though over the centuries some had sought the wisdom of the Green Men who lived on the island as protectors of it's wierwood's. The island sat in the middle of the Gods Eye lake and according to legend it had been on this very island that the First Men and the Children of the Forrest had signed the pact that ended the war between them. After the agreement had been signed the order of the Green Men had been formed to protect the island and it's wierwoods. No one truly knew why they were called Green Men; some thought living on the island had turned their skin green while others felt it was they were simply named for their attire.

The man in front of him certainly didn't have green skin, though, and while his wollen cloak was a deep green the rest of his attire wasn't. Above the waste, the man wore a set of steel armour; gauntlets, bracers and a breastplate sat over a mail hauberk; while his legs were protected by thick boots of boiled leather and a set of greaves. The armour and leather were both coloured black with gold highlights. The man wore no helm, so Harry could clearly see his face. He was old, perhaps similar in age to Harry's grandfather with silver hair and deep lilac eyes.

"What job?" Harry questioned as the tip of the sword was removed from his throat.

"To train you, of course," the man replied and with that enigmatic statement he turned on his heel and began wondering deeper into the island, ignoring Harry's further questions.

Growling a little to himself, Harry prepared to follow. There wasn't much else he could do. It didn't seem as though there was a way off the island from where he was aside from swimming, and Harry was not a very strong swimmer. He didn't have enough confidence in his strength to stake his life on him being able to swin from halfway across the giant lake, nor had he ever been able to overcome his fear of the water. Harry had been swimming exactly twice in his life; once as a child with the school that the Dursley's hadn't been able to prevent; during which he was held underwater for a not insignificant amount of time by Dudley and the second time being the second task in his fourth year. Being able to breathe underwater was the only thing that had stopped him from panicking during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament and it had been the fins provided by the gilliweed that allowed him to complete the task at all.

As he made to follow the man though, something caught his eye. The grass was dead and wilted for about fifty meters in any direction while further into the island, Harry could see it was still a lucious green. However, the ground around where his body had been laying was blackened and burnt in a rather odd pattern. Just looking at it sent chills down Harry's spine as though someone had just walked over his grave. Harry tried to shrug off the uneasy feeling the shape that had been burned into the ground but as he strode away after the man who had stopped to wait for him at the edge of the glade, where the grass met a rough path he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Harry couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder at the spot where the burnt ground lay. Shaking his head, Harry gestured for the man to lead on, which he did with an enigmatic smile. Harry followed.

But the image of a dragon burned into the ground around his unconcious body didn't leave him.

* * *

 **So, I was going to include Harry's time on the island in this chapter but I came to the conclusion that this was a much better place to finish at.**

 **coldblue: 1) They will have a point. They are being held in different locations; it won't be important to the story but Darry is with the Lannister army, Hornwood is being sent to Duskendale and the captured Frey is being held in King's Landing. 2) Spoilers 3) I somehow doubt that either Tommen or Harry would allow Will to remain landless after the war. 4) Harry will get Valyrian Steel. 5) I believe that was sort of answered this chapter. 6) Spoilers. 7) Maybe. Not sure what I'm going to do with Littlefinger. He's safe until the throne is safe from the Baratheon brothers (though he might be weakend some in that time) but after that? I don't know.**

 **Thunderbird29: Harry is in 'love' with a minor character, will be betrothed to another minor character (briefly) before marrying a sort of important character.**

 **D72: Nice thought on the VS detector. It's disturbingly close to something else I was going to have Harry do.**

 **Dezzal: Will is a way for me to show events that no one else is present for, like the scene with Ned in the Black Cells or the one with Pycelle. It would be poor writing if he only featured those scenes, though, so I gave him some others.**

 **espi10n: They certainly might try. Whether they'll agree to Robb's terms, or Robb to their's is yet to be seen.**

 **WhiteElfElder: That's Jaime's style. Tywin pay someone to slide a dagger between his ribs at night and then make that person disappear.**

 **HIsak: Harry will defo get more power before too long.**

 **kossboss: probably one of the nicest reviews I've ever read. You are hereby knighted ser.**

 **BrotherCaptainSheperd: Yeah, Tywin isn't really someone you want to disappoint is he.**

 **Kyoshi711: That's why he's where he is. To relearn some of his old abilities and harness some new ones.**

 **grankhain: considering that he's going up against Renly and potentially Stannis (and he now knows about the White Walkers) he's probably going to be more inclined to accept a peace.**

 **slytherson: Unfortunately, retreating to the Summer Islands isn't an option for someone as important as Harry. Not with the White Walkers on the march. Me though? I hear Braavos is nice.**

 **RHatch, Master of Dragons God, mwinter1, AnimeA55Kicker, toile grant, MattKennedy, yukino76, idrinkstellartois123, grovepjp, NightSkyWolf, Sakihinata, BioHazard82, Cherok33, agouraki, Senyor Fier Mensheir, Seraphius, Gtopia, Neolyph123, mavow1, OBSERVER01, JPElles, stevefocus, 32: Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate the feedback and I'm glad you're all enjoying it.**

 **Next chapter won't be up until after the 5th of August; I'm abroad and then a family member is getting married so I'll be a bit busy. But next time I upload a new chapter we'll have Tywin and Tyrion arriving in King's Landing, Stannis making plans, Renly plotting, Robb coming up with more clever strategies and Harry being trained on the Isle of Faces.**

 **Now it's time for a little competition; next chapter, the mysterious stranger Harry just met will get a name that those of you who know the lore will recognize. The first person who guesses who this person is before I reveal it get's to have an Ed Sheeren style cameo in the next chapter in whichever army you wish (Lannister, Stark or either of the Baratheon's). I'll give you a hint; research the Dance of Dragons.**

 **I think that's all for now, so I'll cya next time. Yozza out!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm back. Not dead. Lot's of stuff over the summer and when I came back to do this chapter in Sept. I just couldn't finish it. It's still not finished really. But I decided to break the chapter up into a couple of smaller ones so I can give you all an update while I try and figure out how to finish the rest of the stuff that was meant to be in this chapter.**

 **Harry was meant to be in this chapter but about three thousand or four thousand words of his part in this chapter got wiped about twenty minutes before I posted this. I'm too pissed off to rewrite it right now so I removed his entire segment; I'm sorry but it looked crap half finished and I wanted to give you something. So, next chapter should go Harry, then Robb, then Harry. The one after that will be three Harry sections, broken up by scenes with Stannis and Renly.  
**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.**

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Chapter 9  


 **William**

 **King's Landing**

Will sighed quietly as he stood stock still beneath the sweltering sun, and tried to discretely shift his weight to alleviate his stiff muscle's. Chainmail wasn't the heaviest armour in the world, but it still weighed heavily on those not used to it. His shoulders and back ached from the wearing the metal links and his legs had begun to cramp due to his lack of movement over the last few hours. Will would have found his task far more comfortable if he had been wearing a plain set of thin cloth clothes rather than the thick leather gambeson and mail hauberk he was currently dressed in, but if the armour helped him to protect the Prince and Princess then it was a price he was willing to pay.

He had been standing behind Prince Tommen for nearly two hours now as the young royal sat beneath King Joffrey's pavillion of red silk. The King himself was lounging arrogantly in a wing backed chair, his leg kicked up on a soft cushioned stool in front of him. Large ornate rings decorated his hands and his crimson tunic had been delicately embroidered with golden patterns. The golden crown that sat upon his head was fashioned into the likeness of a stags antlers. Tommen was sitting on a far smaller, far simpler seat to his right, while Myrcella sat to his left, with Ser Arys standing behind her left shoulder much as Will did over Tommen's right. One of the remaining King's Guard stood in front of the pavillion; Ser Meryn had half a dozen Lannister men around him, three on either side. Ser Boros and Ser Preston were, to William's knowledge, sleeping off their night duty from the previous night while Mandon Moore stood guard over the Small Council. Lannister guardsmen, a mix of Cersei's Red Lions and William's White, surrounded all entrances to the yard and the walls were manned by men of the City Watch.

The courtiers of King's Landing were arrayed to either side of the pavillion and had not been fortunate enough to have seats provided for them. They had gathered at the King's invitation to watch the tourney he had ordered be held for his nameday. In truth it wasn't much of a tourney. The Queen Regent, with the backing of the small council, had refused to allow the King beyond the city walls to the tourney grounds and the yard wasn't large enough for an archery event or a mass melee. As such, the only event taking place was a tournament of one on one melee fights. Further degrading the spectacle was the fact nearly all of those who had competed in the Hands Tourney were no longer in Kings Landing. Lord Beric Dondarion and Ser Raymun Darry had perished in the Riverlands, and a number of others; like Thoros of Myr, Ser Gladden Wylde and Lord Lothar Mallery; may have perished with them. The Frey's and Mallisters now fought beneath the banner of Robb Stark. Yohn Royce and his sons had returned to the Vale while Ser Loras and the Knights of the Reach had joined Renly in his rebellion. With the exception of the Hound, even the Kingsguard were not competing. Instead of the famous knights and smallfolk heroes and high lords that had travelled leagues to ride in the lists of the Hand's Tourney, this tourney had attracted only freeriders like Lothar Brune, disgraced or landless knights from minor houses and a ragged band of others like Jalabhar Xho. The only competitor with enough prestige and birth to be worthy of note was Ser Balon Swann, a talented second son from a house in the Dornish Marches; one that was officially sworn to Renly.

It was the Hound. The hulking Kingsguard was armoured in a thick leather gambeson that fell to his knees and was covered with long strips of studded steel beneath which the man wore a chainmail cuirass. Thick pieces of plate armour were securely fastened around his arms from hand to shoulder, gorget was worn around his neck and greaves covered his legs as high as the knee. The terrifying vissage of a snarling hounds head sat formed Clegane's helmet. He was fighting far smaller oponent, some freerider in service to Lady Tanda Stokeworth, an elderly woman who was among the assembled spectators with her two grown daughters. The freerider was poorly matched, and Will watched with some mix of fascination and pity as the Hound relentlessly hamered blow after blow onto the man with a spiked morningstar, staggering him completely. When the Hound ripped the freerider's shield from his arm, he knew it was over. Sure enough, with one massive strike the freerider was sent flying to the ground, blood already pouring from his badly sized greathelm.

At the sight of the death, Joffrey leapt from his seat and leaned over the edge of the platform to peer down at his sworn sword and the dead freerider "Well struck," he muttered "Well struck, dog!"

The Hound gave no reaction, only removing his helm and making his way back up to the pavillion

Joffrey turned to his brother, and Will involuntarily tensed "What did you think, brother? Did you like it," he sneered cruelly "Or was it too bloody for your taste?"

Tommen glared at the older boy "I rather found it a little boring," he snarked.

 _Too bold,_ Will thought as Joffrey's gaze turned vicious _. Far too bold_. Will could see Harry's influence all over this and while that may usually be a good thing, in this instance it very much wasn't.

"Boring," he nearly snarled "Is my name day boring you, dearest brother. Perhaps you should like to face the Hound next? Would that be exciting enough for you?"

"Prince Tommen misspoke, your grace," Will interjected, making sure to keep his tone as one of deference "I'm certain he only meant that the Hound is a warrior of great strength and skill. That freerider was no fair match for such a formidable fighter. I'm sure you will agree, my King, that it would be far more interesting to see the Hound fight a similarly skilled champion instead,"

Joffrey smiled, but it wasn't pleasant in the slightest "Perhaps you're right," he said, turning his gaze to Will, "What about you then? Would you give my dog a good fight?"

Fighting hard to keep his face blank, Will replied "Give me thirty paces and one good arrow, and I'll give you a dog's head for your nameday, Your Grace,"

Fortunately, Joffrey seemed to accept that answer for he simply smirked before catching the herald's attention "Who's next?" he called, and Will sighed in relief. Already Joffrey was becoming more and more difficult and unpredictable. On some days the slightest provocation would send him into a violent fury and other times he was a little calmer, a little less likely to order someone killed for an ill-timed jape. Thankfully, that day seemed to be the latter.

The body of the freerider was already being removed by a pair of gold cloaks and the Hound already standing beside the pavillion when the herald read from his scroll "Ser Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish," he announced.

Will couldn't fully contain the snarl that escaped when he heard the name of the weasely little traitor. While Will's loyalty was and would always be to Harry and Tommen; and gods help him if the two ever found themselves at odds; he had deeply respected Eddard Stark. More than that though, the second Harry and Lord Renly were out of the city, the snake had instantly begun to corrupt the City Watch again. His ability to pay them off during Lord Stark's coup was proof enough of that. Despite his efforts, Will alone was not enough to curb the man's influence.

"Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard," the herald called after Brune had stepped out. But no one emerged from the crowd at the call. Louder, the herald called again "Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!"

"Here I am!" a voice called, and from the direction the herald had not gestured towards came a portly, balding and red faced man awkwardly trying to carry both his helm and weapon. He was wearing a thick, padded doublet, a pair of steel vambraces around his wrists and a steel breastplate. In comparrison to the tall and stocky frame of Ser Lothor, clad in dark steel plate from the waste up and holding a warhammer in both hands, Ser Dontos looks even more feeble than he might have done ordinarily "Here I am! Sorry Your Grace. Deepest apologies," he rambled, first dropping his helmet and then; after chasing it across the ground for a time, putting it on backwards.

"Are you drunk?" Joffrey asked, incredulous and though his tone may have been light, his expression showed a different story. A story that Ser Dontos failed to notice, but Will did. It seemed one 'insult' too many had pushed Joffrey too far; Will was simply glad he wasn't taking it out on Tommen.

"No," he said, stumbling over his words a little "No, Your Grace. I had...I had two cups of wine, Your Grace,"

"Two cups? That's not much at all," Joffrey smiled, trying to come across as charming as possible, gesturing to the flaggon of wine on the small table in front of him "Please, have another cup,"

Ser Dontos, the fool, looked pleased by the King's words but still hesitant "Are you sure, Your Grace?"

"Yes, to celebrate my nameday. Have two, have as many as you like," When Dontos bowed, the blonde turned to Ser Meryn with a wormy smile on his lips "Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my nameday. Make sure he drinks his fill,"

Without a slither of hesitation, Trant strode away from the line of Lannister guardsmen and, with the help of a pair of Cersei's men, hauled Dontos away from the pavillion somewhat. While one man held the knight's head back by his hair with one hand and Trant forced a drinking horn into his mouth; the two men holding Ser Dontos on his knees the whole time; the third man picked up a barrell of wine and began to pour it through the horn, into Dontos' throat. Within minutes he was sputtering and struggling and trying to escape their grasp. The onlookers were looking away with gaps and exclamations of shock. Tommen began to stand but Will clamped a hand on his shoulder and forced him back into his seat. When the Prince looked up at him in shock, he simply shook his head slightly. This one they couldn't save.

But then a cold and chilling voice rang out around the courtyard "What is the meaning of this, grandson?"

There was no anger in the tone; only a chillingly calm chastisement; but at the sound of the voice, the two Lannister men involved in drowning Dontos backed so quickly it seemed they thought him a White Walker. The barrell was quickly dropped to the floor. Hollard took the opportunity to break free of Trant's grasp and roll away from the men, throwing up a mixture of wine and blood. Around them, the Lannister guards; red or white; stiffened and the courtiers around them had begun to mutter and murmur as the tall, imposing man with the frosty green eyes made his way past them. Will had never met the man before. But the old man with thinning and greying blonde hair who strode into King's Landing as though he owned it could only be one man. Wearing a red steel breastplate, with a pair of golden lion heads for shoulders, and lion paws of the same material being used as cloak clasps he certainly looked the part.

By contrast, the armour currently donned by Lord Tyrion was far worse for wear. It was clearly old and well worn armour and didn't really fit Tyrion's frame very well. Both sets of armour, however, were covered in travelling dust that suggested they had moved with haste to get to the city.

In a long column behind the two men came two distinct groups of people. There were perhaps five score of them in total. Half of them were clad in strong but unadorned and plain looking plate armour and chainmail and each had an array of weapons on their person. They were big men and savage looking, with tangled beards and long matted hair. Some were missing ears while others had ears on strings around their necks and one man had a horrible burn scar in his empty eye socket. They were a complete contrast with the other half, who seemed to be a mix of Lannister men-at-arms proudly bearing their liege lords Lion sigil on their shields and a collection of landed and unlanded knights from a range of other house's, their surcoats displaying a variety of emblem's and bright colours.

The procesion came to a stop next to the pavillion, Lord Tywin's company coming to a halt just to their right. The Lords Tywin and Tyrion were the only ones to step up onto the raised platform. While his dwarf son immediately filled the spare chalice with wine, Lord Tywin stood straight backed and unmoving as he stared down at Joffrey with an impassive face but a cool rage simmering in his eyes.

Joffrey had shifted in unease when Tywin had first made his presence known and now, under the weight of his stare, he slowly sat back into his seat, trying to seem unaffected. His usual arrogance was still there but he had clearly been caught off guard.

Glancing around as though looking for support, the King hesitantly replied "I'm ruling the kingdoms,"

"And what a fine job you've been doing," Tyrion said condecendingly as he finished pouring his drink, "Having one of your own subjects drowned in wine while four of your kingdoms are in open rebellion is, after all, the mark of a brilliant ruler,"

Joffrey bristled "This man is being punished for the insult he dealt me,"

Lord Tywin's facial expression barely changed "And what heinous insult is Ser Dontos supposed to have done you?"

Joffrey flushed and Will, with some pleasure, noted his eyes flickering around nervously. He looked down without answering. Lord Lannister was evidently not pleased with this answer and, after a final icy glare at the young King, he turned and ordered Ser Dontos released and calling an end to the farce of a tourney, completely ignoring Joffrey's petulant glare.

Tyrion smirked at this before turning to Myrcella and pretending to gasp in shock "Look at you! You're more beautiful than ever!" he exclaimed as he leaned over to kiss her cheek, before turning to Tommen "And you! You're going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking," he grinned, making Tommen and Myrcella laugh. Tyrion paused for a moment before gesturing to the Hound with his cup "This one doesn't like me,"

The man who stood at the front of the gruff looking soldiers; a sharkish looking man with dark hair, clad in leather and ringmail; smiled wryly as he looked the huge man up and down "Can't imagine why,"

"We heard you were dead," Joffrey interjected suddenly.

"Reports of Tyrion's demise were unfounded," Lord Tywin said dryly "He won his freedom with a trail by combat,"

"I heard his head was bashed in on the Green Fork," the disappointment that this was not the case wasn't hidden in the slightest.

"Terribly sorry to disappoint you, beloved nephew. Just a small knock from an overzealous clansmen," Tyrion smirked

"I'm glad you're not dead," Myrcella told him and Will fought back a smile at her innocence and kindness.

"Me, too, dear. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world," he replied, before looking over at William "Young William! So good to see you again; Harry speaks of you often and with some pride," inadvertantly drawing Lord Tywin's attention to the young archer.

"So this is the boy who my grandson has trusted with half his men," he inquired, not needing nor expecting an answer "I look forward to seeing if his trust was well placed. The details of the Prince and Princess' guard?"

Will responding instantly, voice flat "I have a guard outside each of their rooms every night, another at each end of the corridor. A dozen men patrolling the Keep every day and night, eight more split between walking the walls and guarding the gates. During the day they go nowhere without at least two men as protection. The men are switched out every day and night."

For a moment Lord Tywin simply observed him "Suitable enough. What of the remainder of your men? When they are not guardind the Prince and Princess, where are they?"

"Training or resting,"

Lord Tywin nodded sharply and turned to the steward "Assemble the Small Council. I intend to begin preparing the city for a siege at once,"

"The Small Council is already in session, my Lord," he responded nervously.

"Very well," Lord Twin drawled "I assume the council chambers are still the same?"

"They are, My Lord,"

"Good. Tyrion, we have work to do," he turned and briskly started off in the direction of the Throne Room. Tyrion drained his goblet before smiling pleasantly at them "Well, you heard my father. Work to be done. Do enjoy your nameday, your grace," was all he said before he hastily followed after his father.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 **Tyrion**

 **The Red Keep**

"Well?" Tyrion asked as he drew level with his father after hurrying to catch up to the larger man's strides. Lord Tywin never was one to slow his pace for those who couldn't keep up. Not even his own son.

"Well what?"

"Buckwell. Are you disappointed? Or impressed?" Tyrion questioned, curious about his father's measure on the boy. Tyrion had always found the boy to be rather dull company, if he was honest. With all but Harry he was brusque in conversation, often not speaking unless directly spoken too and keeping his responses as short and concise as possible. The boy had never made a joke in Tyrion's hearing and his smiles were barely there at all. Fortunately for the boy, Lord Tywin cared not a white for any of that.

"He exceeds my expectations," came the short answer "His guard detail for Tommen and Myrcella is solid and he has the brains to keep his men sharp. He is competent enough. Whether Harry's measure of the boy's loyalty is yet to be seen,"

Tyrion smiled wryly but before he could retort they had made it to the Council Chambers. A tall figure clad in shining white plate, trimmed in gold, stood in front of the door. Of all the Kingsguard Ser Mandon Moore unnerved Tyrion the most. His eyes and face were completely expressionless and his voice a flat monotone. With stangely flat and lifeless eyes and the palest skin Tyrion had ever seen, the white garb of the Kingsguard made the man look like a shrouded corpse. The knight did not move an inch as the now much smaller procesion approaced. Most of Tyrion's clansmen were already scouring the city. Those who had accompanied him to the Red Keep were waiting outside the fortress with the majority of his fathers men. Only Bronn, Timett and a pair of Burned Men remained behind him, while Lord Tywin's only guards were Ser Burton Crakehall and one of Casterly Rock's men at arms.

"Good day, Ser," Tyrion called cheerfully as they approached "A fine day, is it not. I'm afraid my father and I have business with the Small Council. Be a good man and step aside,"

Ser Mandon's face showed no reaction "The Queen gave orders that she was not to be disturbed," he responded in his dead voice.

"Your dedication to your duty is admirable, but unnecessary, Ser," his father said politely yet almost as coldly "The King himself appointed me as Hand of the King with the support of the Small Council, including the Queen Mother. If you would pardon us, Ser, we have urgent business with the council."

Ser Mandon only repeated his beloved Queen's orders and Tyrion saw his father's eyes harden. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper and with no small amount of venom in it, the Lord of the Rock once more ordered the knight aside "We have business inside that room, Ser Mandon. As the King's Hand, I order you to stand aside,"

When the knight made no move to obey, Tyrion once more spoke "You are from the Vale, are you not?" A slow, shallow nod was his answer "Then do you perchance recall Ser Vardis Egen, Captain of the Guard for the late Lord Arryn?"

"I know him,"

"Knew him," Bronn corrected with a shrug and a small grin.

Moore showed no reaction, and Tyrion recalled his brother saying that after himself, Ser Mandon was the most dangerous of all the current Kingsguard. While skilled with both blade and lance, it was the fact that Ser Mandon's body, face and eyes gave nothing away that made him so dangerous.

Just as Tyrion was prepared to resort to trying to force his way through, Ser Mandon tilted his head at Tywin "You may enter. No other,"

"Tyrion is here at my behest. I have bestowed upon him the title Master of Ships," Tywin informed him.

Moore hesitated a moment before stepping aside "These men remain," he said in the same tone he had been using for the whole conversation.

"Very well," and with that, Tywin and Tyrion Lannister entered the Small Council chambers.

They found the councillers assembled around the long wooden table. The King's ornate golden seat in the middle of the far side sat unoccupied with Lord Varys seated to one side of it and a short and squat frog faced man, clearly balding, sat at the other. That was Janos Slynt, Tyrion presumed, a butcher's son and Commander of the City Watch now made Lord of Harrenhal. Tyrion, mentally, snorted. It was so like his sister to give away a castle they didn't even have. It would seem no one considered that Shella Whent still held the castle with a strong garrison when they 'gave' the castle to Slynt.

Opposite of Slynt sat Grand Maester Pycelle, bent-backed and frail. There was a cage sat atop the table in front of the old Maester, housing a white raven from the Citadel. Summer had finally ended it seemed. On Pycelle's right the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, sat proudly. The rabbity man, known more commonly as Littlefinger, was perhaps the man Tyrion trusted least of all those seated at this table. Which was saying something, considering he trusted the others about as far as his stunted little body could throw the Mountain. _Or whatever remains of him_ _at least_ , Tyrion thought. Regardless, it was Baelish's lies and deceit that had caused his abduction at the Crossroads Inn, and Tyrion was very much looking forward to paying him back in turn for that bit of treachery.

At the head of the table, Tyrions sister sat. With Slynt on her left and Pycelle on her right, the Queen Mother looked particularly ravishing.

Tyrion began to whistle jauntily as he approached, drawing the attention of the councillors to himself. Those whose backs faced the door turned to stare at him for his interuption.

Smirking slightly, Tyrion approached Cersei "Please, don't get up. More ravishing than ever big sister. War agrees with. Carry on, don't mind me,"

"Tyrion," came the warning from his father as he sat at the other head of the table "Enough of your mockery, we have work to do,"

Still smiling at the outrage that adorned his sister's face, Tyrion turned and took one of the only two remaining seats. Ideally, he would have liked to be as far from his father as possible, but given the choice between sitting directly next to Littlefinger or his father, he would choose the latter every time.

"Lord Tywin," Varys said with clearly feigned surprise "It is heartening to have you back with us on the Small Council. And Lord Tyrion how I rejoiced to hear of your continued well being after that nasty business in the Vale," the Spider flattered shamelessly. _I'm sure you did,_ Tyrion thought sarcastically.

"Indeed," the snake agreed with a rogue grin "I'm sure your intelligence, skill and years of experience shall prove invaluable in helping us resolve some matters of importance that have arisen since King's Roberts death," _Matters that arose due to the council's ineptitude you mean? Or perhaps your own machinations?_

"It is an honour, my Lord," the frog simpered. _Honour? You don't know the meaning of the word._ "I fear we did not expect you for several more days, My Lord. I would have prepared an honour guard through the city had I known..."

"We travelled swiftly and made good time," father said in return "An honour guard would hardly have been necessary. Grand Maester Pycelle," he greeted.

"My, My Lord Hand; it is an...honour to receive you...My Lord," the old man stammerred before removing a small wrapped item from the insides of his robe and slowly handing it over Baelish who in turn passed it on to Tyrions father "I...believe this now...rightfully...belongs with you, My Lord,"

Tywin gracefully unwrapped the iten and placing it on the table in front of him, revealing the item to be the golden badge that marked him as the Hand of the King.

"Father," Cersei greeted carefully, before turning to Tyrion with nothing but scorn on her face "What are you doing here?"

"I'm glad you asked, sweet sister. It's been a remarkable journey," he began while he reached for a pitcher of wine, which was firmly moved out of his reach by his father. Grumbling, he continued "I pissed off the edge of the Wall, I slept in a sky cell. I fought with the hill tribes. So many adventures, so much to be thankful for,"

"Why are you here?" she demanded angrily "This is the Small Council,"

"And I do believe the Master of Ships is part of the Council," he shot back with a victorius grin.

"What? Master of..." Cersei stuttered in shock and confusion.

"Tyrion is here at my behest," Tywin stated firmly, shutting Cersei down before she could even begin to verbalise a response and the decree he had written in preparation stating such was handed over to Pycelle, "He is to serve as Master of Ships in Harry's stead,"

"Then it seems contragulations are in order, Lord Tyrion," Slynt said jovially.

"My thanks, Lord Janos," Tyrion smiled pleasantly at him, carefully concealing his true thoughts on the man behind a facade of amicability.

"If my...memory serves; Lord Tyrion; then I believe Ser Harrold...your young nephew...was working on plans to...to expand the harbour while he served our...our good King Robert...as Master of Ships," Pycelle informed him, piquing his interest. He had often wondered what Harry had begun to arrange during his short term as Master of Ships.

"Is that so?" he asked casually.

"Yes, I do recall him speaking with Lord Stark on a few occasion's, discussing such plans. I hear he also wanted to build a score of new warships for the Royal Fleet," Baelish sighed "Alas, we have no way to fund either endevour, as you well know Lord Tywin,"

Tyrion turned to the man "Neverthelless, I should like to see these plans. I know my nephew; he would have made a written copy,"

"I imagine such plans would have fallen into the possesion of William Buckwell upon Ser Harrold's departure from the city," Varys mentioned

"Most likely," Tyrion mused. It seemed he would have to speak with the young hunter.

"It matters not," his father spoke suddenly "The state of the harbour and fleet is not an issue we can work on now whether we had the coin or not. I would turn our attention to other matters," his gaze zoned in on Slynt "The City was in a deplorable state when we rode through it earlier. The city is vastly overcrowded, there is chaos in the streets and of every market stall we passed precious few were selling food. From what I have seen the worst is in Flea Bottom, but the rest of the City is little better,"

Slynt grimaced "Refugee's from the war. They've been fleeing from north, south and west since word of war first reached us," he explained "As per the Queen's orders, the city gates will be shut to such people from this day forward,"

Tyrion frowned at that. They didn't really have any option at this point, but doing so would almost certainly turn the smallfolk against them "Regrettable though it is, my sister may be right. We can't even feed the people we have now, let alone hundreds more,"

"Indeed," Baelish commented "Food in the city is running low. Here in the granaries, we have five years worth of grain put aside for Winter, but besides that..." he shrugged "We have enough food to feed the court for the next year or so, perhaps with a little left over that could be sold to the wealthier peasants. In the city, though, they have gotten despearte,"

"People have already been stabbed over crusts of burned bread in Flea Bottom. Bodies have a mysterious habit of disappearing in that area and whenever they do those 'Bowls of Brown' suddenly have meat in them again," Slynt reported a look of disgust on his face.

"What can we do?" Tyrion asked

"Very little," Littlefinger answered "The Lords of the Crownlands are no friends of ours. They have already gathered their harvests and stockpiled their granaries. Anything spare they have given out to their smallfolk, and while they are trying to produce another harvest before Winter truly arrives you can bet good money that we will see very little of that either,"

"We could always seize it forcefully," Cersei pointed out.

"All that would do is turn them against us even more," Tyrion rebuted instantly "Uncle Kevan is going to have a difficult enough time raising a host from them without our interference. Could we try to buy food?"

"With what?" Littlefinger asked bitterly, rubbing his beard irately "Our treasury is empty and our Lord Hand's gold reserves are trapped in the West. Even if we had the coin where would we buy from? As you discovered, the Vale harbours no good will for us. The Riverlords south of the Trident lost much of their last harvest to Ser Gregor and Ser Armory's raids. The North and the Iron Islands barely produces enough of a harvest to feed its own people and even if that were not the case neither would willingly sell to us. The Reach doubtlessly has a huge surplus but they've already cast their lot in with Renly. Dorne I suppose would be open to trade. If we had any coin I suppose we could buy some lemon's,"

Tyrion winced and he noticed his father's eyes narrow in frustration.

Cersei perked up "Father, you had the Riverlords raided!" she said "Surely we could use the grain you took to feed the city for a time,"

"Many of the fields between the Red Fork and Harrenhal were set aflame," Tywin responded, a hint of irration in his voice "Harry tried to convince me to leave them be but to my annoyance I did not listen. Even so, we did seize a good supply of grain from Lady Whent and Lords Darry and Mooton. Unfortunately that grain remains with the rest of the army and they will surely need it now, with out supply lines stretched so thin,"

Tyrion absently noticed Cersei's eyes narrow when their father made mention of 'the rest of the army'.

"What of the Free Cities?" Slynt offered "Could we try to increase trade with them?"

"Once again we encounter the issue of our empty treasury," Baelish replied "And Stannis will surely have the Gullet blockaded before long,"

Lord Tywin frowned thoughtfully for a moment "Offer to lower taxes in the Crownlands for all Lords who donate a portion of their last harvest to us. The more they give, the less they have to pay,"

"That will make it quite a challenge to make returns on our gold," Littlefinger warned

"A necessary sacrifice," the Lord Hand retorted "I would have out attention diverted to the defence of the city. How go our preparations?"

Slynt perked up "At Her Grace's command I have trebled the size of the City Watch," he smiled "I have six thousand men at my command,"

"Are they disciplined?" the Lord of Lannister asked

"They will be, I assure you," Slynt nodded "As of right now they can barely hold a spear straight but Ser Aron, myself and the more experienced officers are drilling them daily. Their training, I am told, is modelled after that of your grandson's personal guard,"

"Good," was the simple response.

"Hundreds of engineers have been put to work building scorpions and catapults throughout the city. Woodworkers and stone masons have been brought in to make repairs all along the walls and every Blacksmith in the City has been ordered to produce arms and armour for the new City Watch troops and any other forces that need outfitting," Varys reported.

"We are also hiring sellswords and freeriders with what little coin I've been able to scrape together," Baelish told them

"How many can we afford?" Tyrion asked

"Well we won't be hiring the Golden Company," Littlefinger smirked "Or the Second Sons for that matter. We can perhaps afford to hire some five hundred men,"

"I'll have my man Bronn go recruiting. He's from here and knows how Sellswords work. He may be able to hire some cheaper," Tyrion offerred

"I will also give you access to what little gold we took from the castles we captured in the Riverlands. Double your estimates on the sellswords," Tywin ordered "Divert the builders to reinforcing each of the gates; focus on the River Gate and the Old Gate. I want both of them fully fortified and banded with iron within a moons turn. All the scorpions in the world won't make a difference if Renly or Stannis breaches the gate. What news of our enemies Lord Varys?"

"Little enough my Lord," he said, frowning "I do know that Lord Renly's host is nearer to a eighty thousand than it is to fifty, and has recently set out marching from Highgarden. More and more join him every day, though his pace is slow. You know as much as I as to the movements of the North, my Lord, though I did receive word that Lady Sansa and Lady Arya arrived safely back in the North and on the Iron Islands I hear that Balon Greyjoy is amassing his fleet,"

"He wouldn't dare attack the West, would he?" Cersei wondered.

"With his son as a ward of the Starks, he may feel he has no other choice," Tyrion pointed out but his concerns were waved by his father.

"Balon Greyjoy is a proud and bitter old man. He cared not for his son ten years ago, he will care less now. He will target the weaker country," Tywin said "What of Dragonstone, Varys? Speak to me of Stannis?"

Varys shrugged "I'm afraid there my little birds have failed me, My Lord. I hear only rumours; Stannis is hiring Sellswords, Stannis is building ships, a Red Woman from Asshai has entered Stannis' service," he told them before his voice lowered in pitch and turned serious "If such a thing is true then I fear Stannis may be a far greater threat than we already know, my Lords,"

His tone and words had successfully impressed the situation upon the other councillors. Not even Littlefinger dared mock Varys' warnings and Pycelle; being a Maester; quite firmly agreed with him, even if the decrepit fool did despise the Spider. Even Tyrion found himself slightly concerned at the thought of this Red Woman and all he had heard so far was that she _may_ exist.

There was silence for a moment, before Lord Tywin stood "My Lords, I thank you for your wise, honest and good counsel. If you would excuse us, I have private business to discuss with my children,"

Tyrion watched as one by one the councillor's left until only his father and Cersei remained in the room with him. Tyrion found a reason to distrust each of them. He had heard of Slynt's corruption and recent betrayal of Ned Stark and found himself profoundly uncomfortable having such a man on the council as Master of Laws and in command of the City Watch. As for the other three, well those he had never particularly liked nor trusted. Varys simply knew too much and Pycelle had always professed himself to be Lord Tywin's man. And as for Littlefinger; well a certain Valyrian Steel dagger came to mind whenever his thoughts turned to the Valeman.

Cersei sat completely still, her face a perfectly composed mask of indifference and her body held regally in a pale blue dress with delicately embroidered patterns winding up her sleeves. A silver pendent embossed with the shape of a lion head hung from a thin chain around her neck. His father, on the other hand, was still standing in front of his seat in his expensive and shining set red and gold armour. His eyes were set firmly on Cersei. While his face was completely blank his eyes had never lost that touch of ice cold fury they'd held since first encountering Joffrey in the yard. The silence streched on for a few moments after the door had closed after Pycelle. Eventually, the weight of their father's disappointment got to her, and Cersei shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Seemingly satisfied with his small victory, Tywin picked up the pitcher of wine and filled a goblet halfway, before placing the half empty glass in front of Tyrion, much to his surprise. _He gave half a glass to mock me, most like_ Tyrion thought. _A pity_ _then_ , he mused, _that I only care to quench my thirst and not give said mockery another though_ t.

"I see Harry was right," the Lord said finally, remaining standing.

"Right about what, exactly?" Cersei asked angrily "What slander has the little bastard been telling about me?"

"It's not slander if it's true," Tyrion pointed out, earning him a glare from his father "And he's not so little anymore. When last I saw him he was almost as tall as Jaime,"

Cersei couldn't quite suppress her flinch at the mention of their brothers name.

"Enough, Tyrion," their father ordered, though it lacked the hate that was usually present "I have spent the last half a year fighting a war to try and keep my grandson seated on the throne and what do I discover when I return to the City?" Cersei didn't answer, looking down in shame "A foolish and cruel boy, hosting a farce of a tourney, wasting valuable soldiers lives for his own amusement and ordering his own subjects drowned in wine for minor slights!" the tall Lord leaned down slightly and glared at Cersei "I did not work for six decades to make my House the strongest in the realm only to sit another Aerys on the Throne. What folly have you been teaching that boy?"

"How dare you," Cersei snapped back "Joffrey is nothing like Aerys and..."

"How would you know? You never saw him at his worst. How he would order men mutilated for the smallest of offences. How he would sulk whenever he didn't get his way or how he would create ludicrous projects only to abandon the idea a week later," Tyrion smirked. His father had pretty much just described Joffrey. From the way, she hung her head slumped back slightly, Cersei recognized it too.

"Joffrey is a..." she paused and trailed off, considering her words "Willful child. I thought I could control him,"

"Did you? You failed," Tyrion pointed out simply "And that failure sent two of our kingdoms into open rebellion,"

Their father shook his head "I had half a mind to send Harry here to reel the boy in and act as Hand in my stead. He told me to come and judge Joffrey's worth myself; I'm glad he did. I can already see I'll have a difficult time ahead if I'm to mold him into a King with any degree of competence,"

Cersei sunk even lower into her seat.

Their father continued "That revolting display in the yard was bad enough. But this business with Eddard Stark..."

"We had nothing to do with that," Cersei interjected suddenly "He was already injured when he was sent to the Black Cells and the gaolers beat him badly. He died of his injuries,"

"Are you truly foolish enough to believe that the gaolers beat him of their own accord?" Tyrion asked.

"I suspected Joffrey had a hand in it. He denied it, of course, but I was never sure," she answered hesitantly

"He died without witnesses?" their father asked as Tyrion drained his glass and made to get more, only to find the pitcher had been moved out of his reach once more.

"He did,"

"Then how did word get out? The entire kingdom already knows that honourable Ned Stark died while in our captivity, did you not have the sense to keep this hidden?"

"I would have, but the by the time I found out..." she stumbled to a stop.

Tyrion sighed "Let me guess: Joffrey was told first,"

"He had the man's head placed on a spike. A sympathizer within the castle must have sent word out," at her answer, the Lord of the West sighed heavily at hearing more of Joffrey's foolishness.

"I suppose Joffrey is to blame for the foolishness of dismissing Barristan Selmy from the Kingsguard, as well?"

Shifting uncomfortably once more, Cersei answered "We needed a scapegoat to blame for Roberts death and Joffrey wanted to reward his Hound. The council agreed,"

"You fools!" Tywin snapped "Barristan Selmy is a living legend in Westeros, even now. The smallfolk still cheer at his name and treat him like a hero from the songs. What damage do you think our cause will be dealt if he swears to Renly or Stannis or Robb Stark?" he sighed again "Because of yours and your son's foolishness we have enemies on all sides, a smallfolk legend may swear his sword to one of our rivals, we have no chance at achieving peace with the North and the entire court knows of Joffrey's...tendencies."

"Stannis isn't a threat surely?" Cersei asked "He has only a handful of small rocks to call upon; we have the strength of the walls and your army numbers twenty-five thousand men. Even Renly with the might of the Reach would struggle against such numbers,"

"Do not pretend to understand warfare, daughter. You have led no armies, fought no battles and won no victories. And with the blunder you've made of things here, perhaps it is for the best that you will never command an army in the field," Tyrion's mouth ached at how wide he smiled at that, and Cersei bristled at the dressing down she'd just received "My army numbered twenty thousand men when I engaged the Stark force on the Green Fork; I retreated to the Ruby Ford with thirteen thousand and was then bolstered by the five thousand I left under my brother's command. But of those men, I have only three thousand with me here in the city,"

" _Three thousand!"_ Cersei shrieked in outrage "You expect to hold the city with three thousand men! Even Stannis and his desolate islands have you numbered!"

"You will mind your tone!" Tywin boomed and Tyrion allowed the grin to fall from his face at his father's tone "Have you forgotten that there are two Stark armies and a rapidly regrouping force of Riverlords to our North? Has it slipped your mind that because of your son they would like nothing more than to mount all our heads on spikes?"

"We need those men here!" Cersei continued, undeterred.

"Do you want Robb Stark to siege us from the North? Because that is what will happen the moment I have Harry march his army here!"

"You left that impudent boy in charge of our army!"

"Enough!" Tywin yelled, louder and more visibly angry than Tyrion had ever seen him, disgust and bitter disappointment lining his every word "Is this what my legacy has fallen to? You? Will only Jaime's line bring me any pride?"

These words, Tyrion noticed with a cruel sense of satisfaction, bit deeply into Cersei and finally she seemed to realize that she had said too much.

"Out of respect for your relation to me, I had considered allowing you to remain on the council," Tywin stated "You have soundly confirmed to me that such an action would be foolish. I will inform you of any important developments from now on and Joffrey will attend me for two hours every afternoon and an hour of an evening. Do be sure to inform him of his new lessons.

"Tyrion, I want you to investigate our _wise_ council. Varys, Pycelle, Baelish and this new man, Slynt. Find out everything and if any of them are false..."

"Heads. Spikes. Walls." He quipped.

"In the meantime, begin work on a way to ensure our victory over both Renly and Stannis. I will do the same," with that, Tywin turned and strode from the room.

Looking over at his downcast sister, Tyrion found it much too hard to resist a parting jab "It must be hard for you, to be the disappointing child for once,"

The glare she gave him promised pain. Tyrion simply smiled.

* * *

 **Tom2011: That was supposed to be hinted at this chapter. It will be hinted at next chapter instead. But the army does have a leader and Harry won't lose any cred over his visit to the Isle of Faces.**

 **antithought: close, but not quite.**

 **The Defenestrated Typewriter: No time travel. Might do some messing around with time on the isle of faces but not outright time travel. There's another solution. On an unrelated note aren't rubies great? Melisandre has some great taste in jewels.**

 **Hoegh: The person is a Green Man. But not Addam. Close though.**

 **falseproffitt: Not a dragon animagus no.**

 **Gtopia: He will, eventually.**

 **WhiteElfElder: Yep, this chapter was supposed to contain a 'meeting' with the Old Gods, a connection to Bloodraven and introduction to the Green Men and the Children of the Forest they have with them and the beginning of Harry's training. It was also supposed to hint at how Harry will maintain his command despite not being there.**

 **Gremlin Jack: Yeah, there's an explanation. With the magic of the GoT/ASoIaF world, Harry would have extreme difficulty learning on his own. That said, the Green Men are just going to get him started.**

 **DBZ Stargate Ninjawars: Harry's not on a break and he will get a chance to be his own man.**

 **Everyone Else: Thank you so much for you're reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying it, if you are.**

 **To Everyone: I'm so, so, so sorry about not having Harry in this chapter. I promise I will try and get the next one out post haste to make up for it.  
**


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